Room for One More
by The Smiling Crow
Summary: One of Max's escape plans goes... awry. So much for his 'eternal nothingness'. Now, he has to figure out this whole ghost-poltergeist-whatever stuff on his own... while still taking the opportunity to scare everyone witless. Ft. Disney's The Haunted Mansion. Short story for October 2019!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I have had this on my phone's notepad for almost 2 years, but I kept forgetting to write it out for an October... until now!**

**It's just a quick little fic to keep me writing and active. I hope to space this fic out and put up the final chapter on Halloween Day.**

**Happy October 2019, everybody!**

* * *

**Trigger warning; blood.**

* * *

"_Ha! F*cking suck on that, Camp-Man!_" Max crowed aloud, scampering over the underbrush.

The chaos of the latest Woodscouts fiasco provided the perfect cover for him to slip away. By the time the counselors knew he was missing, he was already at the edge of camp.

He remembered hearing David's screech as he tripped the Sasquatch-Snare Trap Nikki left out last Tuesday. After that, it was easy to outrun Gwen and he'd only had to duck under the Quartermaster's surprise hook-swing before he was home free.

The forest by Camp Campbell was extensive, but armed with a general idea where the road to town ran and the big mountain in the distance as a guidepoint, he felt confident he'd make it to a bus stop. And with the fistful of dollars he'd looted off David's wallet, it was easy as pie to get a ticket out of this hellhole.

After that…

… well, he'd deal with that in the meantime. Big picture, though, he needed to get to town and this plan was foolproof.

*trip*

'God-dammit' He thought, detachedly, as he felt his foot snag on a rock or something. His momentum betrayed him enough that he went head over heels off the side of the path and down the sloping hill.

His body jostled with every bump and tree, but he couldn't get a decent-enough hold on his surroundings to stop his tumble.

Through the blurred whirlwind of the world around him, he saw he was approaching the bottom of the hill.

A stump pitched his body forward enough to stop the spinning.

His eyes focused enough on a large mossy stone-

*CRACK!*

…

...

* * *

"Ugh," Max groaned, easing up from his spot. He was lying down on a grassy spot in front of the big rock. In front of him was a clearing with a spattering of trees, a mess of weeds and underbrush, and more mossy stones jutting out of the ground. Looking back, he could see the steep slope and the trail of damage he'd done on his way down. Just at the foot of it was the very stone he'd probably split his f*cking head open on.

Because it definitely _felt_ like it.

He hissed as his hand pressed against his temple where he felt the wet, slightly sticky, trickle running off his eyebrow.

His breath hitched slightly as he pulled it away, his hand covered in darkening, maroon blood. Looking down, he saw his hoodie was splotched with the stuff as well. It unnerved him more than he'd like to admit.

Camp activities were hellacious, yeah, what with the squirrels, the cult leaders, the mashed potatoes, but it was rare anyone came out with more than a bruise or a black eye (and even then, it was typically because of Nurf). Hell, David's hands getting stabbed (twice) was the most f*cked-up thing he'd seen in a while involving actual blood.

He shuddered as he looked back up to the top of the hill and grit his teeth. He was _so damn close_ and he f*cked it up at the last second.

But dammit all, he needed someone to stop the bleeding. He angrily trudged up the hill, careful not to slip again, and followed his trail of destruction to the top.

From there, it was an easy retracing of his steps towards the nearest trail David took them on a week ago for a 'nature walk'. Then, it was with a shameful, begrudging walk that he made his way back to Camp Campbell.

* * *

Arriving at camp wasn't anything new. Nurf was shaking Harrison upside down over some lame reason or another, the magician's doves and props littering the ground with the growing mound seemingly more than Harrison could ever fit on his person. Nerris was rolling some 'perception check' or some shit with her dice. Dolph was busy making a suspiciously swastika-like painting of a windmill.

He made a beeline for Nikki and Neil. Neil was making his newest mad-science potion or elixir or whatever, while Nikki swayed her feet impatiently as his 'test subject'. Max was pretty sure that violated several steps for human trial FDA testing regulations, but whatever.

"So… did Max tell you what he was gonna do?" Nikki asked.

"You know how he is. He probably saw the first opportunity to ditch this place and he took it." Neil said not looking up from his lab kit.

"Oh." Their female friend looked away, slightly hurt, "I just… thought he'd kinda liked camp. I mean, he hadn't made any escape attempts recently so I thought he was over it."

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong." Neil responded coldly.

The silence was deafening as neither said anything. Max huffed and cleared his throat. "Uh… hey guys…"

"I mean, we were _friends_ weren't we?" Nikki interrupted, not looking his way.

"Psh," Neil spat harshly, "It's the f*cking exchange campers thing all over again. Max doesn't make 'friends'. He makes connections and tools and _where is my f*cking graduated cylinders?!_"

Nikki was silent as Neil grumbled and raged over his sub-par equipment setup.

"I-I really thought after the Camp-Corp thing… and working with the Woodscouts to stop Daniel… that he might've-" Nikki said quietly.

"Ouch!" Neil snatched his hand away from the scalding Pyrex measuring cup he'd impromptu-ed as a beaker over his burner. "Nikki I'm trying to work! Even if Max crawled back to camp, I'm _not_ giving him the time of day!"

Max swallowed heavily as he sulked away from the two.

He… he probably deserved that.

He shoved his hands instinctively into his hoodie pockets and grimaced when the sticky, crusty feeling of bloodied cloth made itself known.

Looking around, he didn't see David or Gwen anywhere.

Sighing, he passed by the other campers who also pretended to ignore him. Aside from Space Kid, who watched him go by for a minute before returning to his toy rocket ship, it seemed everyone wasn't in the mood to deal with him right now.

To be fair, he did leave them with the Woodscouts' failed mess to clean up. And given Germy was involved…

He shuddered and swung into the bathrooms. If nothing else, he'd try to wash _those_ memories out of his head.

Turning on the water, he started washing his hands under the stream, the blood staining the water a rusty red.

He pulled them back-

-and scowled when he saw his hands were still stained that sticky red color.

He forced them under again, scrubbing vigorously with a splash of soap until the foamy mess was as crimson as the blood originally.

He looked again.

Still… f*cking… bloody.

"What the shit?" He swore to himself.

He grabbed a paper towel, wiping his hands until the _towel_ was f*cking _soaked_ in the stuff.

Max panicked, checking his hands and arms for any cuts that could be bleeding that badly.

He looked to the reflection to try to gauge his head wound-

…

"_What the fuck?_" He whispered.

The mirror was empty.

The bathroom was there.

The sink, still with residual rusty red water in it, was there.

The bloody towel on the edge of the sink was there.

…

But Max was not.

He waved his hands in front of it, not sure what it'd do.

He clambered up the sink and pressed a hand against the cold glass, confirming it wasn't some kind of missing-mirror-to-the-other-room effect.

He smacked the damn thing which didn't so much as ripple from the impact.

"… help…" He whispered. Panic rising.

"Help. HELP!"

He ran outside, shouting, "Help! Please! David! Gwen! Neil!"

He spotted his Brainiac friend holding a steaming beaker of something red in his hands, but he couldn't care if his friend was ignoring him. He was smart, he'd know what the hell was going on, right?!

"Neil! Neil! Please, I need your he-ulp!" He was brought up short and gagged-

-as Neil walked _through_ him.

It felt like he was slightly pushed back by some kind of weird Jello that moved through _him_, too, choking him and brushing uncomfortably against his… organs? His body?

Whatever the hell was going on!

His breathing picked up instinctively, and his head swam, but he couldn't think of anything.

All he could think of, was trying to get back to the place it all happened.

In a blind panic, he retraced the trail he'd just come through and ran back to that f*cking rock.

* * *

**AN:**

**ALL I have to say is sorry for not putting up a trigger for death but...**

**IS that not the point? I didn't want to spoil it for anybody going in.**

**NOT that chapter 1 is a 'spoiler' per se...**

**AS you probably noticed, the Summary is a little sparse.**

**IT will be changed later.**

**SEEMS like I've got some work, right? Next Update on Friday!**

* * *

**Happy October!**

**-Crow**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:**

**Trigger warning for blood, darker topics,… and happy haunts :)**

* * *

He was on the trail for way too long.

He should've been there by now.

So _why did that f*cking tree look so familiar_?!

He sat down angry and confused. The sun was setting and even then, the twilight rays were dimming as the nighttime around this backwater place took hold. He didn't have a flashlight or anything, so his options for retracing his steps until morning would be futile. He was already invisible, he didn't need to add 'lost' to his list of problems.

He looked down at his hands, still stained in that red fluid, just as bright and fresh as it was hours ago.

His head still throbbed sometimes, but it was… numb. Like it hurt just to hurt and not to say 'this is wrong. This is life-threatening. Do something, idiot'. It was weird to experience and harder to describe.

Everything was already f*cked, so what else could go wrong.

…

The sun just went out.

As in, the last rays just faded to nothingness beyond Sleepy Peak mountain and the darkness encroaching from the East started overtaking the fading twilight fast.

…

F*cking.

Perfect.

…

…

"…_now_… -_n't cl-… your…_"

Max's ears perked at the faint whisper of… singing?

Singing meant people… people meant a place… a place meant a landmark and maybe food or shelter or _somebody he could talk to in this goddamn place!_

He stood up and started wandering towards the singing.

In hindsight, yeah, he probably shouldn't have walked off the path towards the mysterious sounds in dark, unfamiliar woods, but… alright I got nothin'.

His mind was pretty much set on 'People. There's People. Find People'. So he went and the music got slightly clearer.

"_silly sp-… sit by… side_"

The voices were distinguishable now. A couple different ones making one of those barbershop quartets you hear sometimes. They sounded pretty good, too.

The waxing gibbous moon (huh, David's stupid astronomy camp activity came in handy) rose in the East, casting pale, silver moonlight over the darkness and his eyes adjusted quickly.

The place gradually sloped downward and he carefully made his way to the base of the hill.

He couldn't be sure, but he felt like he recognized this clearing… sort of…

It wasn't forested as heavily and the place was overrun by weeds and mossy stones, but they looked a lot like the ones he saw around the spot he woke up at.

**"_When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake."_**

The music! A really deep bass voice reverberated through the clearing as the others made an accompaniment from rhythmic 'do' sounds.

He turned as the voices continued to harmonize.

**"_Spooks come out for a swinging wake._"**

**"_Happy haunts materialize_."**

**"_And begin to vocalize_."**

He got closer.

**"_Grim grinning ghosts, come out to socialiiiiize~_."**

…

…

Silence.

He panted heavily, spinning this way and that to try and find the source. To find the people that were making that sound.

But there was no one.

"H-hello?" He called out, a little startled by his own voice in this silence. "P-Please, anybody!?"

More silence.

"I heard you f*cking singing!" Max swore, getting bolder as he broke the silence more. "Don't ignore me, assholes!"

Nothing.

Max snarled, "Well, what do you f*cks know?! You were offbeat! And off-key! I've heard _harmonicas_ with better pitch than you!"

…

Stubborn.

F*cking.

Silence.

"AARRRGH!" Max shouted, throwing a stray rock at one of the other, bigger stones. "What the f*ck is with these stones anyway?! You making _friends_? I'll call you Rocky! And you f*cking Stony! And this one-"

He stormed up to the closest one-

-and paused.

The stone had a shape. It was broad, flat, and distinctly sculpted by someone even with the years of wear and erosion. Brushing off the curtain of moss, he saw faded telltale divots of some kind of writing.

.

_EZRA RAVENSCROFT_

_B. June 6th, 1843_

_D. October 13th, 1893_

_-0-_

_A well-travelled man,_

_He's been about,_

_Now he's a-waiting,_

_For his ride to get out._

_-0-_

.

"The f*ck?" Max whispered.

A grave.

A real… f*cking… _grave_…

He looked around the space, now seeing the 'stones' for what they were. One shaped like a cross with its left side fallen off. One shaped like an obelisk. Another with a misshapen angel statue eroded to unrecognizability.

He was in a graveyard.

Then the voices-

The music-

His mind blanked as he caught sight of a familiar hillside with a freshly crushed trail of destruction from the top down to the base. He slowly walked over, dread ebbing in his stomach.

He just needed to see.

He had to be sure.

The trail of crushed foliage led down and ended abruptly at one lonely stone. He made it to the front of the stone, the moonlight illuminating another faded grave.

He faced it, fearing what was on the other side.

The trail stopped there.

Was there…

Was he…?

A faint splash of color just behind the grave caught his attention.

Blue.

Blue, polyester fabric.

And a tiny, sunkissed hand poking out from it.

"…n-no…"

The palm was dark with something now a matted crust.

"No..."

The sleeve was splotched with something so dark the moonlight rendered it black.

"No, no, no, no!"

It wasn't real.

It was Daniel; one of his f*cked-up cult tricks.

It was a dream; he was in a coma from the tumble.

It was one of Neil's potion fumes; he must've left another beaker in their tent and he was delusionally tripping balls, and crying at the sight of nothing.

It was a dream!

It was a trick!

It was an illusion!

It was a delusion!

It wasn't right!

It wasn't real!

It wasn't fair!

It's not true!

It's…

It's…

"**A new arrival!**"

Max's head spun around to see a bust grinning down at him from a pedestal he'd backed up against. The marble head had remarkably been completely untouched by years of erosion damaging other statues and detailed a mustached gentleman figure and his face was beaming delightedly. Around him, four other busts tilted to give their own beaming grin at Max.

"Well, ain't you a breath a' fresh air in this dreary little corner o' the earth!" One exclaimed.

Another with a bowler hat nodded. "Aye! And I was thinkin' we'd be stuck with the same _deadbeats_ for the next couple a' years."

"Or decades." A third chimed in.

"Or centuries!"

"Oh, will you lot just give it a rest! You'll be at it till Kingdom Come at this rate!" The last laughed.

The more serious figure with a balding head and muttonchops turned to Max and harrumphed. "Well, I think the little rascal is alright, though I'll be rememberin' that bit about us being _off-key_! We've had about a hundred-fifty years to get our routine right and I'll not stand for a child to be our critic."

Max whimpered as he stared incomprehensively at the quintet of busts.

"Oh, give it up, Phineas! He's a child, and a Recently-Deceased at that! Too early to get into grudges and whatnot! Let's give him a proper welcome, yeah?" Another head exclaimed.

"A'right, a'right! Up and at 'em, lads! We got ourselves here a new arrival! Come on, come on**, _look alive_**! EHEHEHEHEH" It cackled.

The moonlight seemed to brighten as the clearing transformed entirely. There were suddenly people! Men and women and children all a pale, faded white like they were covered in flour but wispy like fog. Their clothing ranged from raggedy dresses and work clothes to fancy top hats and flouncy gowns.

The figures started rushing forward, each giving polite, eager smiles and congratulatory gestures. Max hurried back in fear. The busts hummed a note and happily began singing.

**_"When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake"_**

**_ "Spooks come out for a swinging wake"_**

Max ran past the crowd of departed well-wishers and into the maze of the graveyard.

**_"Happy haunts materialize"_**

**_"And begin to vocalize"_**

He bumped straight into a hunched figure with a skeletal body holding a box. Gathering his balance, he saw the figure's box had lost its top.

The figure's bony spine ended abruptly.

A skeletal head leered, grinning at him from inside the box.

**"Grim Grinning Ghosts, come out to socialize!"**

He ran and got lost in a large clearing of people in swooshy clothing gliding in circles in an unending ballroom dance.

**_"Now don't close your eyes and don't try to hide"_**

**_"Or a silly spook may sit by your side"_**

Coming out of the mass of dancers he met another woman in a fancier dress. A long, white wedding dress. Her beautiful, blonde hair curled beneath the veil and she smiled kindly down at him.

**_"Shrouded in a daft disguise"_**

**_"They pretend to terrorize"_**

A red light pulsed in her chest. An axe raised in her hand.

Max ducked as she swung, her grinning maniacally.

**"Grim Grinning Ghosts, come out to socialize!"**

A knight holding his severed head riding his horse gallantly through the graves.

**_"As the moon climbs high o'er the dead oak tree"_**

**_"Spooks arrive for the midnight spree"_**

A fat woman in a Viking helmet shrieked loudly in an attempt to harmonize with the busts.

**_"Creepy creeps with eerie eyes"_**

**_"Start to shriek and harmonize"_**

Two men in formal, black clothing raised their pistols and fired a shot at the same time, making both of their hats fly off together..

**"Grim Grinning Ghosts, come out to socialize!"**

An emaciated dog bounded behind a bundle of children in some macabre game of tag.

**_"When you hear the knell of a requiem bell"_**

A woman walking along a tightrope between two trees.

**_"Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell"_**

A man sitting atop three more, the last one half-in-half-out the dirt like quicksand.

**_ "Restless bones etherealize"_**

A dapper man in a suit suddenly decayed into a skeleton with tattered clothes.

**_"Rise as spooks of every size"_**

A trio of ghosts.

One skeletally tall and gaunt with a leering, unfriendly grin.

One middle-sized, hunched, and dopey-looking with a carpetbag and tophat.

One tiny with a long beard, tattered robes, and holding a phantasmal ball and chain.

**"Grim Grinning Ghosts, come out to socialize!"**

Max sprinted past the trio eagerly holding their thumbs out for a hitch and was about to make it to the forest edge when he bumped into one more figure.

"Oof! Sorry, about that. I- Max?"

The diminutive camper looked up to see a familiar face with tacky triangle-patterned shorts and puffy, white light-up shoes. "Jasper! Holy f*ck, I'm so glad to see your face!"

"I-I, uh, Max? Are, are _you_ the new arrival everyone's talking about?" Jasper said sadly, "Aw man, that's… I'm sorry, man."

"No, no! I'm not dead, I promise! But you gotta help me." Max pleaded, some twisted hope pushing the… _thought_ further back in his mind. "Okay, so I'm over there. Er, my body is over there, ("Max?") I just need to get David or Gwen and we can… we can figure that out later. ("Max.") First, we gotta figure out how to grab their attention, cause-"

"MAX!"

Max was snapped out by Jasper's sharp yell. The ghost sighed and laid a hand on Max's shoulder, "M-Max, I know it's hard to hear-"

"No, don't bullshit me, okay!" He smacked the hand off.

"I _know_ it's not what you want-"

"NO! F*CK THAT! I'm not gonna give up just because-"

"YOU'RE DEAD, MAX!"

"I AM NOT! SHUT THE F*CK UP!"

"WELL WHAT ELSE IS THERE? THE LIVING CAN'T SEE YOU. MIRRORS DON'T SEE YOU. YOU'RE BLEEDING _EVERYWHERE_! AND I BET SOMEBODY ALREADY WALKED THROUGH YOU! WHAT OTHER OPTION IS THERE, MAX!?

"YOU. ARE. DEAD!"

…

…

"I… I'm not, I'm-" Max's conviction petered out to a small, failing trickle of denial.

"It's not easy to hear the first time." Jasper plowed on, not unkindly, his frustration cooling down. "But that's it. That _was_ it. You lived and you died. I'm sorry."

…

…

Max blearily sat down and tucked his knees to his chin, suddenly feeling very small. That… _That_ was it. That was his life. 10 f*cked up years on this f*cking planet, f*cking around and being a cynical little asshole.

10 years old.

And now he was dead.

…

…

"Fuck..." He whispered hoarsely.

...

...

"Am… am I a ghost?" Max croaked.

"Yeah, man, you are," Jasper replied, hand returning to his shoulder.

Then, he winced awkwardly.

"Well… sort-of."

Max turned to him abruptly, "Wait. What do you mean? Can I still-"

"No, no, you're dead, Max. That's not gonna change," Jasper shot down quickly, "But you're in a kind of… trial period, I guess? Everyone here did it. If you don't Move On first-time-round you're a kind of ghost, but not a permanent one."

"I don't get it," Max admitted, familiar frustration seeping through the numbing fog.

"Well," Jasper paused to think on it, "When you died, you died prematurely and in odd circumstances. I think it's more-so because you died _in_ the graveyard _by_ something in the graveyard. That doesn't usually happen. So, you're on-track to becoming a ghost as a result."

"But I'm… not a ghost?" Max cautioned.

"Nope."

"Then, what the f*ck am I?!" He yelled.

"You're on-trial, essentially."

"On trial for what? Heaven? Hell? Zemug's Palace or Spaceship or whatever? What?!"

"Listen!" Jasper cut in, patience thin, "You're a new ghost and if you want to keep existing, I suggest you listen!"

…

Max gulped but for once kept his mouth shut.

"Okay… so, when a ghost first forms like you, they're not fully formed. They need time to gather strength and power and become a ghost that can sustain itself in the world.

"But it's not that easy. There's this… guy. Nobody knows who it is or what he is or what he wants, but he's this Grim Reaper-looking dude. Cliché, yeah, but it's the truth. I saw him, too.

"Now, he will follow you and try to… well, _get you_. You have to last until midnight on a full moon. We're not sure why that specifically, but regardless of how close or far the next full-moon-midnight is, you need to last until then. If you do, you'll be a rad ghost forever, like me!" Jasper said, gesturing to himself.

"And if I… don't?" Max questioned.

Jasper frowned, "If the Reaper guy gets you before then… you'll be gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone."

"Like… like…"

"We don't know, but it doesn't exactly look like Moving On. He kinda swipes at them with his scythe and they… vanish and fade away." Jasper admitted.

"I- I- I'm not doing this! I can't make it that long!" Max hyperventilated. Oh, wait, he doesn't need air, why the hell was he doing this!?

"Max! Calm down!"

*smack!*

…

…

"D-did you just _smack me_?! Wait, I felt that?! You can smack me?!" Max gaped incredulously, hand rubbing the mark on his cheek.

"Sorry, bro-seph, but I had to get you to snap out of it." Max grumbled slightly as he continued, "But, no worries, my home-slice. You lucked out! The next full moon's in 3 days. If you last that long, the Reaper dude won't bother you ever again."

"Three days?" Max parroted, looking up through the clearing at the waxing moon above.

"Three days." He sighed with conviction. "I… I guess, I mean- How hard can it be?"

"That's the _spirit_! Eh? _Eh_?"

"…"

"Okay, Jeez, no need to try to kill me twice. Now, how's-about I give some pointers from a pro? Let's get started with Ghosting 101; Making Things Move…"

* * *

**AN: Fun fact, I made up "Ezra Ravenscroft" after Ezra the skeletal hitchhiking ghost and Thurl Ravenscroft, one of the original singing bust voices and the voice behind Tony the Tiger's Frosted Flakes commercials (ca. mid-20th-century) and the ever-famous "Mr. Grinch" song.**

**And yes, I did take the time to find out that in 1893, October 13th fell on a Friday.**

**How many ghosts do you recognize?**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: An update for October 13th, yeah!**

* * *

**Day 1 of 3**

* * *

"Gwen… have you seen Max?"

Gwen sighed heavily, slipping her journal of smut fanfi- er… 'exotic story in progress' under her mounds of paperwork. "David, we did a sweep of the forest. Sal already put out an alert for police from here to Vancouver. We did everything we can."

"I know," He hesitated. "I just get this… feeling in my gut that something's not right… maybe another sweep of the forest?"

"David, you need to focus on the other campers, too, alright? Besides, Max is a pretty capable kid, y'know? He's a manipulative little shit, but he's clever and resourceful. I'm sure he's f-"

*POP*

Both counselors jumped as the lightbulb in their ceiling fan exploded.

…

…

"I'll… go get a spare from storage…"

"Good idea."

* * *

"F*cking Gwen. F*cking David. 'clever and resourceful'. F*cking fan-f*cking-tastic way to f*cking kill myself." Max grumbled, stomping right through the door of the cabin, disregarding the shiver David had as he slid past.

The whole 'ghost' business meant he didn't need sleep, so he stayed up with Jasper all night picking up his little tidbits and tricks about moving shit. He said it was '_dead_' useful for interacting with the real world. Max promptly chewed him out for the pun.

Still, he passively kicked a spare whatever-sport-ball lying in the grass and grinned as it rolled slightly a few inches. The results were worth it.

He didn't even know _how_ he made the lightbulb in the cabin burst. He was barely sure if it even _was_ him that caused it. But he just felt… angry at Gwen for how calm she was about all this… and it felt like the anger filled the bulb and overcharged it until it popped.

The look on their faces was entertaining though, and best of all he got _none_ of the blame.

Spying David in the supply cupboard, he got an idea.

"Oh, this is gonna be _fun_."

His smile curled evilly in on itself.

* * *

David sighed as he reached the storage closet. Lightbulbs were handily stacked in the shelves above the old yard supplies.

He knew Max was a bright kid, but he wasn't infallible. Pouring gas on a campfire was proof enough of that. He felt like he'd failed as a counsellor, not only letting Max finally escape but now for having no clue if he was even…

He shook his head, refocusing, "Okay, Mr. Lightbulb, where are you hiding?"

He finally reached the shelves of old grape juice and probably long-expired "Meat" (now with 70% actual _meat product_). The lightbulbs were all in a decently-sized stack, still in their individual cardboard boxes they picked up in bulk from the electronics store in town. He reached up to grab a box-

*SLAM!*

He yelped as the door to the closet slammed shut on the other side of the room. "G-Gwen? Kids?"

No response. He made a few quick strides over to the door and frowned when the handle remained stubbornly in place. He was locked in.

He let out a wary chuckle, "O-okay, fun's over, I'm… I'm working now, so I need you to unlock the door now… guys? Gwen?"

*bzt*

*bzt-bzt*

He looked up at the bare-bulb quietly flickering in the dangling socket. Ironic; he goes to get a bulb and the single bulb in the place starts to fail, too.

He rushed over to the boxes of bulbs and opened one, returning to the flickering, failing bulb just in time for it to go out with a final, pathetic buzz.

In the darkness, he blindly raised a hand and winced as it touched the hot glass of the original bulb. Tapping it a few times until it felt cool enough, he unscrewed it and pulled the bulb off. Then, he re-inserted the new bulb right into the slot-

*bzt!*

"WAAAAAH!"

*pop!*

*shatter!*

The old bulb fell from his hands and shattered as he gripped his chest, once more surrounded by the dark.

As soon as he started screwing it in, the lightbulb flared to life immediately and David _swore_ he saw a little figure just beside him.

A child.

A bloody child.

That looked an awful lot like Max.

Then, the brand-new bulb chose that exact second to burst in the socket, too, plunging him in darkness and leaving him out of luck.

What _was_ that?

Was he seeing things? Was it because he felt guilty about Max and now he was seeing him hurt everywhere?

*shuffle*

A faint noise was heard just at the other side of the room. Like someone in socks scuffing briefly across hardwood.

…

"H-Hello?"

…

…

Silence.

…

Then, the darkness was faintly pierced by a soft, dim glow.

David was drawn to that glow like a moth and found it in the shelf full of bulbs in their cardboard boxes. The glow was inside one of the boxes, the light seeping through the crevices of the package.

With a shaking hand, he pulled the top of the box open.

Inside, was a lightbulb.

A glowing lightbulb.

An unplugged, uncharged, _glowing_ lightbulb.

He picked it up, remarking the cold chill emanating from the glass, unlike the heat he'd just handled a normal incandescent with. The ethereally white glow of the bulb illuminated the space just enough for him to search around and see absolutely no one in the cramped storage area.

He kept staring at the, frankly, _impossible_ thing in his hand.

How was the bulb glowing? He'd seen youtube videos and knew there were ways to illuminate lightbulbs with tesla coils. He wouldn't put it past Neil to be in on this prank. But that technique was using fluorescent bulbs. Could an incandescent work the same way? No… it needed a lot of power… incandescents essentially burn their filament, right? So… how…

Flickering lights drew his attention back to the shelf. One-by-one the bulbs started flickering to life inside their little boxes. Glowing brighter with each second.

David ran to the door, slamming against it to try and escape. "Okay, whoever is doing this, you got me! Now let me out!"

The bulbs grew brighter in their little boxes.

"Somebody!"

The boxes vibrated and hummed with electricity. The glow was blinding even through the boxes. It was like the entire shelf had been turned into a small sun.

"Help!"

The door opened.

David fell over and scrambled away as he looked back.

The room was dark as ever.

And the intact bare-socket bulb swung slowly in place, dangling from the ceiling.

* * *

"And behold! Ta-Da!"

Harrison raised his hand to reveal the cup of grape juice had, indeed, been magically turned to oatmeal. Dolph politely clapped with wide-eyed amazement as Nikki joined quietly, too. Neil had a sour scowl, muttering skepticisms under his breath, but kept his usual heckling to practically nothing.

"That was _wunderbar!_" Dolph exclaimed, still clapping.

"Cool," Errid agreed in her own chill way.

"Hmph!" Nerris frowned, "This pathetic magic pales in comparison to even the tricks of Jibbles the Jabbering Jester. Parlor tricks such as these are tame in comparison to the true might of magic!"

"Oh, yeah?" The magician challenged.

"Absolutely! Everyone knows I have a +15 Enchantment Skill thanks to my Stone of Sorcery," She held up a smooth white stone she found on the lakeside.

"Well _real magic_ doesn't depend on stupid _junk_ to work properly!"

"GASP! Take that back, fiend! I cast lightning bolt at you!" She threw her dice and wiggled her fingers as a natural 20 rolled up. "Eat my fury!"

"Nerris, I'm sure if _I_ were the one to throw lightning, you'd regret it a lot more." He replied evenly. Nerris sat back down with a pout that promised it wouldn't be the last he'd heard from her.

"Now, on with the show! Be amazed as I pull an endless loop of scarves from within my hat!"

He tapped his wand against the tophat and pulled out a colorful scarf connected to another colorful scarf connected to another and another and another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

"Woah, dude, where do you _keep_ that many?" Erid broke the amazed silence. Harrison looked behind him and discovered the chain of scarves had exceeded the amount he'd prepped his trick for… actually, it exceeded _anything_ a normal illusionist could've done. The pile was almost as big as himself!

"Um… yes! Ta-Da!" He put on his false bravado whenever one of his tricks goes uncannily awry, still pulling out scarf after scarf after scarf.

*twitch*

"Um… _mein_ friend, is that part of the trick?" Dolph asked, pointing behind him.

Harrison followed the finger and saw the pile of scarves had begun shifting on their own. The massive collection writhing and slithering as it slowly rose like a towering snake above him.

He kept pulling the scarves out with a fervor.

"H-Harrison?"

Yellow scarf.

Red scarf.

Blue scarf.

The scarf-snake seemed to hiss.

"N-no need to panic. No need to panic. A good magician has everything under control!" He reassured them.

And himself.

Problem was, he wasn't that great a magician.

Purple scarf.

Green scarf.

Yellow scarf.

Blue scarf.

Red scarf.

Red scarf.

Red scarf.

Red scarf.

Red scarf.

Harrison frowned in confusion as the scarves suddenly kept coming up red.

And wet.

He paused his pulling at the endless chain to see the scarves in his palm were _squishy_ with something dying them red. His palm was coated in the sticky sensation of the red liquid.

He plunged a hand in his hat, expecting to feel the false-bottom he'd pressed the original scarf chain into or something.

His hand felt nothing but air.

It was like the hat was limitless inside the depths. Like he'd plunged his hand into a hole and was feeling around someone's cold, dark, stagnant cellar.

He bumped something inside.

Something… _frigid_, compared to the rest of the vacuous space.

And solid.

And slightly wet.

He felt the thing wrench itself around his wrist and screamed in surprise. The rest of the audience had taken that cue as the 'I have royally f*cked up this trick, now run!'.

The snake-scarves slithered around Nurf, Erid, and Nerris before they could escape.

Nerris shrieked as the scarves looped around her and pinned her in place. Around her, the stuffed animals she'd used as campaign companions _sat up_ and started _walking towards her_. She screamed for him to stop his tricks as the cuddly little things crawled up her body and started yanking her hair and glasses.

Erid was being hung upside down by a loop pinning her arms to her sides. The scarves started spinning her like a magical tilt-a-whirl. Her surprised 'woah-oah-oah-oh-oh-oh-oh' sped up like fan blade as she blurred into a centrifuged tangle.

Nurf yelled in humiliation and pain as the scarves seemed to settle on grabbing his underwear and leave him hanging by their own version of his 'thermonuclear wedgie'.

Meanwhile Harrison kept desperately trying to pull his hand out of the _wherever_ his hat now led. The freezing grip not letting go. He put a foot on the brim of his hat, pinning it to the stage and readied himself to put his whole body into the next pull.

With a final grunt, he yanked and felt the grip move with him.

His gloved hand met sweet freedom.

And the bloody hand still gripped his wrist.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

The hand let go. Receding into the hat.

The toys let go. Tumbling off Nerris lifelessly.

The scarves let go. His friends falling on the ground.

The enormous chain retracted like a whip back into the depths of his hat and the hat did one last flip in the air before sitting innocuously on the stage.

…

…

With a pathetic little pop of confetti, the trick chain of scarves (only about 7-tied-together) fell limply on the ground. No blood in sight.

…

"I-I know the sh-show must go on… b-but I think… I'm gonna end the performance early," He whispered.

Nerris nodded tearfully, cautiously scooping her stuffed animals back up like they'd spring up and attack her. Nurf grunted, shamefaced as he tugged his underwear back in place. He'd guessed Erid would agree, but she'd stumbled green-faced to the treeline and by the sound of it, was puking up her breakfast, lunch, and dinner from last Tuesday.

Harrison hesitated, carefully inspecting the hat's interior. Even poking a finger out the hole worn at the very bottom of the hat.

He set it aside still.

He didn't think he could wear it and not feel the phantom hand brushing against his hair underneath.

* * *

"In dreams he sang to me~, a strange duet!"

Preston Goodplay beamed excitedly as he sang under his breath. His quill was fervently inking his newest masterpiece! Phantom of the Opera, but with a cyborg-prince! Brilliant! Genius!

The play was going to be a huge success, much more receptive to his audience of plebian peers than his last play; Hamlet: The Zombies Return. The ideas were flowing out of his noggin like ink and into the words on the paper. He was in his 'groove' and he was KILLING IT!

He set aside the newest page when a small flutter of color caught his eye.

The cravat he was incorporating into the Phantom's design, a bright red length of some of the finer cloths this camp had to offer, was fluttering across the table by the wind. He sat up, bemused at the small inconvenience. Put something a little heavy on top of it and then back to his genius!

"Tut-tut, my lovely costume piece! I need you for my latest- hey!"

The garment flew away from his reach violently, like a gale had just moved it. An unseen, unfelt wind.

Preston found himself chasing after the length of cloth across his camp clearing. Several more garments joined it in the strange wind.

A wide-brimmed hat.

A pair of white gloves.

A dark pair of pants.

A fine porcelain mask-

WAIT!

"THE MASK! NONONONONO!" He panicked desperately. That was the _only_ phantom mask he'd come across in the entire campsite. It was perfect and a precious treasure he'd kept secret and safe from the vindictive like Nurf, the clumsy like Space Kid, or the Reckless like Erid.

Without that mask, there'd be no phantom!

No phantom; NO PLAY!

He desperately ran after the mask, oblivious to the fact that any weather phenomenon couldn't possibly move a solid, porcelain mask. Oblivious to the mass of garments blowing with it.

Oblivious to the fact that the 'wind' led him all the way to the stage grounds, the stage lights illuminating the entire set despite no plays being scheduled today.

Eyes still on the mask flying in the breeze, he sighed joyously as it settled gently onto the wooden planks of the stage. He hardly cared to notice the other props and costume pieces now slowly revolving in a graceful tornado.

"Oh, my lovely! My darling!" Preston gushed, inspecting the mask carefully. "I don't know _what_ I would have done without you!"

The mask stared back hollowly.

"Not a chip, not a crack!" He declared happily. "Now come! We have a play to… write?"

He paused as a shadow fell over him.

He turned, fearing another camper-

-It was not.

Before him stood a figure. A figure dressed impeccably in a collection of the camp's more extravagant costumes. Polished black shoes. Pressed black pants. A stunning black vest over a clean white shirt. An elegant black cape fluttering in an unseen breeze. A wide-brimmed hat.

And a red cravat. Tied delicately around the shirt's collar-

Below a head that did not exist.

Between the cravat and the floating hat was a darkness, almost a shadow, that seemed to be hollowly missing something.

Preston's voice came out in pitiful strangled croaks and stifled whimpers. He clutched his precious mask tighter in his hands.

The figure's gloved hand extended in a demanding gesture.

Preston, shivering, stood there as the hand took the mask from his grip and lifted it to the stage lights above.

The shadow remained as dark as ever despite the lights, but the _mask_-

The mask's eyes seemed to refract the lights above. Giving the mask a _life_ as tangible as anything else.

The figure slowly lowered the mask onto its empty face-

And the Phantom of the Opera was complete.

With that, the Phantom turned on its heel and stalked backstage.

…

Preston came to his senses and rushed behind the scene board to find the entire space empty of anyone or any_thing_.

…

…

Stunned by the vision, by the loss of the props, by the loss of his _mask_, he made his way back to his little writing desk.

The pages were still where he had left them, but-

"No…" He whispered, rushing over to them. "No, no, NO, NO!"

The pages were ruined.

Hours of his work were gone now. Scribbled out and marred by a dark, red ink smearing the words and soaking the pages until they were soggy and fragile.

His play was reduced to a pulpy mess of red.

His play was ruined.

"No…"

Devastated, he sniffled as he dumped the useless mess into the trash bin. Perhaps it was for the best. The plot was… a bit convoluted after all… probably not one of his best works. He could do better!

…

It still hurt.

…

But who could've done such a thing?!

One of the campers? Taking advantage of his absence?

Or was it himself? Had he spilled a red inkwell in his rush after the cravat?

Or the _squirrels_…

…

His accusations were brought up short as he found a small object beside his writing desk. Tucked in the corner.

The Phantom's Mask.

A quick look around found everything back in place. The hat on the rack, the suit in its hangers, the cravat on his table.

But the mask was out of place, no longer in its small box hidden behind Juliette's dress.

The mask seemed to stare back at him. The life and breath it had earlier was gone, back to a hollowness. But it _looked_ at him, now.

Making him an offer.

_Daring_ him to breathe life into it once more.

Preston felt more like Edgar Allen Poe or H.P. Lovecraft as he opened a drawer and pulled out a single crow's feather he'd found. A black quill, he'd saved for a special occasion.

The zombie-cyborg-prince-whatever had been a contrite idea, after all.

And the Phantom made his opinion known.

Enraptured and fervently, he began penning the work the Mask seemed to ask of him.

…

Phantom of the Opera… with a real Phantom.

* * *

"Jesus, what the f*ck?" Max wondered aloud (well, unheard by the living but if any of the Dead were around, they'd have heard).

Seriously, he'd just destroyed one of Preston's stupid plays with a bottle of red ink and from the monologue the guy spewed out, it seemed like he'd only _inspired_ him for something _more_ bullshit!

The young playwright continued to write feverishly, that slightly-crazy glint in his eyes showing again, muttering under his breath about the 'mask becoming alive once more' or some shit.

Seriously, he ran off after his stupid props blowing away in the wind and came back looking nuts.

"What, you see a f*cking _ghost_ or something?" He snickered to himself, walking away.

The Mask's eyeless glare flickered.

* * *

"I'm takin' my days off." The Quartermaster announced as he walked beside Gwen towards his shed.

"WHAT!? Until when?!" Gwen shouted. "I need somebody around here since David's having his own little personal crisis over here. I mean, _I'm_ the one who gets the panic attacks! I can't _function_ with him being out of commission too!"

"I'll be back after the full moon." The man responded, uncaring, as he tore the top off a box of refined salt. "Should be done by then. One way or another."

"Whatever. Can you just- Ugh," Gwen pinched her nose, thoroughly _done_ with everything today. "And can you stop wasting the salt!?"

"Nope." The odd man replied, still pouring the salt across his shed's threshold. "Keeps them spirits at bay."

Gwen didn't know how to _begin_ to respond to that.

Before she could tell him what _she_ thought about his 'spirits', the salt-line glowed blue very briefly before going back to its normal powder-white.

…

"CCHCHCHCH-pew!" Quartermaster hawked something at the side as he glared angrily at something a few feet away. "Damn spirits, messin' with my stuff… mbmlbml."

Gwen stared as the old man mumbled under his breath while he continued pouring salt everywhere, some of the lines occasionally glowed blue again, but not for long.

"Oooookaaaaaay… I'm going to watch TV."

"You do that, girlie. CCCHCHCHCH-pew!"

* * *

"God dammit, old man!" Max said, rubbing his backside after his latest attempt to get past whatever the f*ck kind of bullshit the Quartermaster set up outside his shed blasted him back a few feet.

The man kept spitting towards him, too. It'd just go right through him, but the accuracy of the man targeting him every time left him uncomfortable.

"Whatever. Christ knows what the f*ck you are. Goddamn severed-hand-swapping, squirrel-killing, quarter-sister… merging… weirdo." He grumbled under his breath.

His eyes followed Gwen's retreating back, thoughtfully.

He looked down at his hands. That earlier tricks with the scarves, the empty tophat, those were all some of the weirder things that just _happened_, so he just rolled with it. The scarf-snake, the little fluffed animals, everything else just fell in place.

He didn't even know _how_ he had grabbed Harrison's arm like that.

But he had his next target.

"Time to bring out the big guns…" He whispered gleefully.

* * *

Gwen sat back with an explosive huff.

David was freaking out and taking a 'sabbatical' walk through the woods. She figured it was another attempt to find Max, but he seemed… shaken since he came back with that lightbulb.

He also kept looking at it funnily after he screwed it back in. Like it was going to bite him.

Then, something goes wrong with Harrison's act and several campers came running to her. She finds Erid sick to her stomach, Nerris crying in her 'Tower of Isolation' setup, and Harrison, himself, nervously staying away from his own camp activities.

Now, on _top_ of all of that! Quartermaster decides to take a day off!

And on her way back, she found Preston obsessing over another one of his plays, so she'd have _that_ meltdown to look forward to later.

She just wanted to escape from the bullshit of reality with a little reality/totally-not-reality television. The box set Campbell was so 'gracious' enough to gift to us (*cough cough* read; dump on us to shut us up) had the crappy antenna thing on top, but it could still pick up a decent picture, even on a bad day. Glancing at the clock, she smiled considering Amish Housewives should be on.

She flicked the remote-

-and nothing happened.

…

"OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE F*CKING SHITTING ME!" She roared. Seeing red, she slammed the remote on the tabletop and stomped up to the TV, flicking the channel knobs individually.

The screen fritzed to life with a dull roar of static, but no matter what buttons she pushed, no signal came on.

"AND A BROKEN TV! THANKS UNIVERSE! YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHEN I F*CKING NEED IT!" She slammed her fist down on the top-

"Oh!"

And the picture solidified.

"Huh, concussive maintenance to the rescue," She mused, anger slowly draining away.

She eased back to the chair, ready to watch whatever was showing-

-A rock?

…

…

A rock.

A f*cking rock.

It wasn't even in color!

"Ah, what the hell kind of backwater channel is this around here?" She grumbled angrily flipping the remote's buttons.

But no matter what channel the reader reported, the image stayed the same. A f*cking rock at the bottom of a hill facing her. The rock wasn't even that interesting, it was covered in moss and lichen and-

-was that a hand?

She peered closer at the image, now seeing a small hand slide back behind the rock just in the corner like its owner was shyly spying on her.

"Okay… what the f*ck kind of show is this?"

Then, the speakers started picking something up. A low, croaking sound punctuated occasionally by sharp cracks like someone popping their knuckles.

The hand returned, grasping at the upper corner of the rock slab and just a short moment after, a darker shape peeked from behind it. A face?

A face.

A small, eye opened and stared out from the screen at her. It was too obscured to accurately see who or what it was but it was definitely a portion of face.

The figure jerkily moved around the rock to the front. Gwen's heart sank as the figure of a bloody child stumbled from behind the rock. It's neck was slightly bent at an awkward angle and its spine crackled noisily with each step like every shift broke something new.

"I hate horror." She muttered, getting up to just turn the stupid, broken TV off.

She got closer as the figure seemed to stumble towards the camera. She was just about to switch it off when the figure's head tilted back-

"M-Max?" She whispered in shock.

The poor kid looked like his head was cracked open. A-and how the _hell_ did he get on TV in the first place?!

What kind of f*cking Red Room shit was this!?

Max got up right against the screen and reached out to the camera.

Gwen was too horrified to notice the hand sink down to the bottom of the screen, focusing on the camper's face-

-until the hand grabbed her!

She shrieked as the very solid, very _real_ hand had reached out of the television screen like it was water and grasped hers in a vice-like grip. She pulled back which only seemed to pull more of the figure out of the screen.

A little, brown hand slick with a sticky red liquid.

A dark blue sleeve, soaked with the same.

A shoulder.

Finally, glowing green eyes glared out of the screen, marred by rivulets of blood streaming from the wound on his forehead.

"_You_. F*cked. Up. Gwen." He rasped in that mocking tone. "It's _your_ fault. _You_ f*cked up."

He grinned widely at her.

"And now I'm **_dead_**."

* * *

"AIIEEEEGH!"

Gwen bolted upright from where she lay on the floor, throat sore from the shriek.

She panted as she took in everything around her.

The TV screen just in front of her was flickering with static. The sun was setting through the cabin's windows.

The remote was where she'd left it.

David still hadn't come back.

The TV definitely was _not_ displaying some Ring shit starring a missing camper. She shuddered, flicking the glowing screen off for good.

A technology-break might be nice.

Maybe write some… 'exotic encounters' in her journal?

Actually engage with the campers?

Figure out meal plans since Quartermaster will be out for the forseeable future?

She sighed. That was some serious shit going on in her dream.

_And now I'm **dead**_**.**

"F*ck." She muttered angrily to herself, rubbing her eyeballs. Max wasn't _dead_. He was fine. He was a resourceful little shit who probably was halfway to Vancouver by now.

But still…

"No… no way," She stopped herself from going down that particular rabbit hole. She had shit she had to keep together. She had to be the responsible one in this camp and she couldn't afford to crumble.

She got up off the floor (how'd she get there anyways?) and went to the bathroom to wash the groggy grossness of sleep off her face.

Running the subpar indoor plumbing for a few seconds she looked at herself in the mirror. Yep, definitely a 'you look like shit' evening.

She ran her hands under the stream to scoop some water-

…

…

The rusty red water had started running clear. But for a moment, all she could see was rust-like blood coming from the faucet.

Perhaps at that moment she was too distracted by the tiny hand-shaped bruise circling her wrist.

* * *

Max snickered as he walked away from Gwen's cabin. Score 1 for him; actually scaring someone into a dead faint!

Definitely gonna be a highlight to his after-life.

The sunset was stretching along the horizon and Max could glimpse the almost-full moon rising in the east. It felt weird. Two more days and he'd be like this… well, forever.

A day or two of skulking around camp, scaring everybody shitless was fun… but forever was… a pretty long time.

He mentally locked that thought away, focusing on the _now_. And right _now_, he had more people to scare. More campers to get a leg-up on and see what shit he could get up to. Maybe even hit the Quartermaster with something if he ever leaves his weird voodoo-protected cabin.

He spotted Space Kid playing with his little toy rocket and staring up at the stars. "Perfect."

He snuck right behind the bowl-headed kid and tore the toy out of his hand, making it appear to float around in front of his face. "Woooooo! Spoooookyyyy floating toooooy!"

Give him some slack, it's not like he's got a lot of material to work with in the middle of this field.

Plus it's _Space Kid_.

Even if he made that… unsettling campfire story, Max was expecting him to have bolted away in a wailing, confused panic by now.

But he just sort of… sat there.

He kept whispering, "Wooooo. _Woooooo_. Woo-"

"Max, don't you think you're being a little cruel?"

…

…

"THE FUCK!? You can _see me_?!"

He dropped the toy and immediately got in Space Kid's face. It may have been getting kind of dark with the sunset, but his eyes were _definitely_ following his movements.

"You can see me!" He exclaimed again.

"Well, yeah, everybody in my family can." Kid's reply was so casual, way too casual for whatever the hell was going on here.

"Wait, wait! What. The. F*ck! You're telling me that Neil f*cking Armstrong… the _moon_ guy… can see ghosts."

"Yep."

"… I swear a conspiracy theorist somewhere is getting off on this right now."

Seriously, of all campers _Space Kid_ was the one to see him? It both was right out of left field, but somehow made some kind of weird sense.

"I saw you messing with everybody today." Space Kid continued, "I know you're upset with… y'know…"

"Being _dead_?" Max spat.

"Yeah… I'm sorry about it, too. It looked painful," Kid offered, gesturing to his own forehead to mirror the permanent gash on the ghost's. Max looked away and shrugged in response. "But just because you're a really powerful ghost doesn't mean you can go around hurting everyone like this. Nerris was really upset and Erid couldn't eat dinner, she's so sick."

"Well boo-f*cking-hoo! What's anybody going to do about it? I'm dead, not much else anybody can do to stop me!" The ghostly-boy retorted spitefully.

"Besides this is _fun_," He smiled maliciously. "I can do crazy things just by wishing it to happen! I can scare people shitless and stick around to see their faces without any blame my way. I can do whatever I want, go wherever I want, _when_ I want! And no David or Gwen to stop me. Give me a reason I _shouldn't_."

"Because we're your friends."

"Feh!" Max spat, "As if! I know what everybody's been thinking. Being a ghost is pretty useful for spying around. I heard what Neil and Nikki were talking about yesterday. They're _glad_ I'm gone."

"No, they're not," Kid said sadly. "Nikki's been sad all day. And Neil's been angry at everybody but I can tell he's upset-"

"Yeah, well, he can suck it for all I care." The ghost growled. "They want me gone so bad? Well, guess what, I'm _gone_, now. Dead, vamoose, deceased. They don't want anything to do with me, well I'm not gonna have jack shit to do with them.

"Max…" Kid started.

"DON'T START, SPACE KID!" He roared. "I get it, you want me to stop with the poltergeist routine and be the next f*cking Casper, all friendly and cheery and full of bullshit! Well, you don't get to tell me jack-f*cking-squat! This is my life- my _afterlife_ now and this is what I'm doing!"

"But you're in pain! You're hurting!-"

"I _don't_! That's the _point_! I'm _dead_! I don't 'hurt', anymore!" Max jabbed an (incorporeal) finger in Kid's chest. "No amount of whining or begging or crying is gonna change that! So _what_ if Nikki or Neil miss me? So what if you can see me?! I'm DEAD and that's _it_, so I might as well just say 'f*ck it' and make the most of what I can do! Got it?!"

…

"Alright, Max," Space Kid frowned. "If that's how you want your eternity to be… fine."

He picked up his little spaceship and started toddling off, before turning and looking at Max one more time.

"I hope you find some peace, Max. Forever's a pretty long time."

And with that, he left.

And Max stayed alone.

* * *

"F*cking… space-loving... fishbowl-headed… urrrgh!"

Max punched a tree (uselessly, as his fist sailed right through it) and stalked further from camp along the main road to the camp entrance. It was funny, just two months ago, he'd be waiting at this spot for the bus to come with new campers so he could hijack it and get the hell out. And two days ago, if he'd walked along this path, Quartermaster or David would pick him up by the scruff of his collar and haul him back to camp.

Now… he could walk literally to China and nobody'd give a rat's ass about him.

"Say, kiddo, you look a little… _glum_, heheheee."

Max whirled towards the wheezy cackle to spot a tall, skeletal freak of a man leering over at him. His lanky, bony frame was jutting out in stiff uncomfortable-looking angles with a stature that made it seem like a solid bowling ball strike would topple his limbs like a jenga set. A heavy, ragged trenchcoat draped over him.

One hand held up a little hat just beside his bald head.

The other, held his thumb out in the distinctive hitchhiker's pose.

"Y-you were in the cemetery, weren't you?" Max pointed, nervously.

"That's right, kiddo," The ghost's deep-sunk eyes shone with amusement. "Me and the boys, here, were watching you today. Fine work there."

"Mighty fine, indeed," Shrieked a raspy, elderly voice. Max turned to see two other ghosts appear beside the road as well. The hunchbacked one with a dopey face carrying a carpetbag waved good-naturedly. The one who spoke was a short man, about as tall as Nurf, with raggedy robes, a wrinkly face with a beakey, craggy nose, and a wiry white beard so enormous, it completely obscured everything except the nose and eyes. One hand held out the hitchhiking thumb while the other carried an old ball-and-chain cuffed around his ankle.

"I tell you, you got talent," The hunchback man said in a slightly nasally voice. "I sold elixirs, herbs, and potions in my living days and I tell you I can recognize talent in any field and you, sir, have got it! Let's talk about it a little and work out a deal. Say… 30%? No, no, you look like a finely educated young man, we'll go with 25%, which is the lion's share, I'll have you know! I should know, being a Doctor and all-"

"Shaddap, Phineas!" snapped the little man, then addressing Max. "That moron'll talk your damn ear off and peddle it back to ya, he will!"

"Boys, boys, settle down," The skeleton smoothly interrupted. "We're losing track of what's important, remember, Gus?"

"Oh, right!" The small man, Gus, cackled.

Skeleton looked at the ghostly camper and knelt down with a series of cracking and creaking joints that made Max's toes curl. "First off, the name's Ezra. And we've taken an interest in your… haunting abilities…"

"Uh…" Max's 'stranger danger' alarms were blaring.

"Oh, nothing bad, my boy, but it's clear you've got some real potent power in you. Not everyone can be seen by a non-medium like that."

"Oh, right, with Gwen…" Max shrugged.

"Here's the deal; you're interesting and your haunting routine is something special. And we're stuck around here and bored out of our skulls," He cackled and clopped his head to hear the hollow thunk. "Your little stunts have been the most fun we've seen in ages, but also gave us an idea. So, we thought we'd ask if you took your routine elsewhere."

"Why? What the hell does it matter to you?"

Ezra grinned, "More people scared away means more people leaving."

Max frowned, "And that matters _because_…"

"Because one of those is our ticket outta here!" Gus interrupted excitedly. "We haven't found our way out yet, but one of those new-fangled horseless carriages is gonna be our way off-a' this God-forsaken piece of dirt!"

Ezra seemed to glare at the diminutive prisoner, who shrunk back hunched and muttering. Then, he looked to Max, his broad grin returned, "See, kid, we're stuck here 'til we can find the _right_ ride out. We catch a spot in the backseat of the _right_ car or bus and we're freed. Otherwise we end up right back on this plot of land."

"So that's why you look like your thumbs are gonna fall off?" Max glanced at their hands which hadn't moved from their hitchhiker's pose.

"You never know when one'll pass by," Ezra shrugged. "And it might be the _right_ one."

"So what does any of this have to do with my… um… haunting?"

"We want you to… spread out. Give a good show to the others around the lake! Mix up your routine a bit and make some fresh Hell. Got it?"

Max's arms folded stubbornly, "And what's in it for me? I'm the one doing all the work."

"Oh, I like this one!" Phineas beamed, "He's gotta head on his shoulders! Knows how to make a deal! Speaking of, kid, are you interested in a side-business, when the haunting's low? Cause I got a joint-profit deal that'll blow your socks off! What's your opinion on skin cream and good luck charms-"

"Phineas…" Ezra glared.

The hunchback clammed shut and resumed fiddling with his carpetbag.

"What's in it for you… is a couple tricks we learned over the years," Ezra offered, grin broadening. The other two perked up and cackled in agreement.

"Tricks?"

"Oh, yes, we've been at this for going-on two-hundred years. And you seem like a quick study. So there's the deal… we teach you a couple of our… nastier haunting techniques and how to control the kind of things you pulled off today, and you cause a little chaos around the lake. So… how's-about-it?"

…

Max's grin turned wicked, "Chaos is my middle name."

Ezra's smile threatened to split his skull in half.

"Excellent! Then, let's start with hallucinations, visions, and transformations-"

* * *

**AN: I don't really care for any of the 'canon' Three Hitchhiker's stories of life and death, so I took some liberties in my head as I wrote their dialogue.**

**Mostly with Ezra (the tall, skeletal one). I don't know, he always struck me as more the sinister kind of hitchhiker in appearances. Like the serial killer hitchhiker stories; the one who keeps grinning toothily and is creepily friendly until he knocks the driver out, drags them back to his home, and cooks them for dinner (hence why he's so skinny). I imagine he either starved to death or got overtaken by one of his victims. Also, I kind of imagined him as the kind of ringleader of the three.**

**Phineas I always thought of as a little dopey from his smile, but still an ambitious peddler or swindler obsessively trying to push a deal out of his little carpetbag. I imagine one of his deals landed him in hot water with a 'client', hence his… new lease on life.**

**Gus, I interpreted as a cranky little old man with the wheezy, Old-Prospector voice who died in a prison cell or dungeon and used his newfound ghostliness to 'escape'.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Writing is so much easier with the proper ambient soundtrack playing.**

**Warning: surprisingly disquieting Gore, Horror, and panic. (Keep in mind; no trigger for Death)**

**I think I was listening to a few too many slasher soundtracks typing this up…**

* * *

**Day 2 of 3**

* * *

Max casually walked along the lakeside, surveying the area across. From Campbell's shores, he could see both camps; Woodscouts and Flowerscouts.

One; a camp for boys filled with back-stabbing assholes, camp-stealing bastards, and _Germy_. Plus they thought _Daniel_ was a good idea to hire as a counselor.

The other; a camp for girls filled with ruthless, snobby, stuck-up witches led by a manipulative, drunk hag whose body was 90% Botox. The temporary truce during the whole Bonquisha deal fell flat pathetically easy (though Tabi [now with one 'i'] got the brunt of it).

He smirked, holding out his hand as it briefly turned skeletal before swapping back.

The hitchhikers were creepy as f*ck, but hell if the results weren't totally worth it. Now, to put them to good use.

"Max?"

He turned towards Spooky Island to see Jasper drifting along the water towards him. "Max, I've been looking everywhere for you! I was haunting around Camp Campbell last night and everyone's talking about ghosts and wacked-up shit! What the flapjack were you thinking?!"

Max snorted, "I was thinking 'Gee-whiz, Halloween is a great time of year, why don't I share it with everybody else, year-round!' What the Hell do you think, dumbass! I'm scaring the shit outta them!"

"But _why_?!" Jasper moaned, hands pulling his face in exasperation.

"Because. It's. F*cking. _Fun_." Max spat.

"It's not how things are supposed to be! '_The living won't see the dead'_! You're not supposed to do that! You're not even supposed to be _able_ to do that kind of shit!"

"F*ck your rules! I didn't give a shit about them in life and I sure as hell don't in death!" He smirked, "Besides, I got _plenty_ more in mind."

He set his sights across the lake and Jasper worriedly followed his gaze, panicking, "Wh-wh-what!? Are you _trying_ to grab that guy's attention?! Dunno if you didn't hear me the first time, but; Grim Reaper Dude who will _scythe you out of existence!_"

"Bullshit!" Max retorted, "I got away with all that shit yesterday and I didn't see hide or hair of anyone like that stalking around. I'm starting to think it's all just made-up to get me to 'behave' because you were always a rule-loving f*ck as a kid and you're just as much as a ghost!"

"Max, that's not true-" Jasper started.

"Tell it to someone who cares. The Hitchhikers showed me tons of tricks and I'm itching to try 'em out."

"The HITCHHIKERS?!" Jasper shrieked. "Max, you can't trust anything they say! Hell, _the short one still has a ball-and-chain, for God's sake_!"

"Yeah? Well, they've been the most helpful bunch since I got here!"

"What am I, chopped liver?! I showed you all the basics-"

"And you skimped on all the good stuff," Max accused. He raised his hand, gleeful when it shifted to a twisted, claw.

"Holy _shit!_" Jasper recoiled.

"And that's just the start." Max turned to the lake, hand returning. "With this, I'm gonna get some revenge on the f*cks who've been making camp difficult all summer."

Jasper frowned, looking conflicted, before sighing, "This… this is so wrong, Max. And I know I can't stop you… but I'm not letting you go off alone."

"Whatever," Max dismissed, grinning at the shoreline opposite. "Now… let's see here"

He raised a finger, bobbing between the two options.

"Eenie. Meenie. Miny. Moe.

"Which shit camp will I next go?

"Hear them scream, 'cause I'm a pro.

"**Eenie**." His pointer finger slowed.

"**Meenie**." It insidiously crackled an ethereal green.

"**Miny**" Thunderclouds rolled and crashed-

…

-Just over the Woodscouts campgrounds.

"**_Moe_**."

* * *

Stephan van Petrol was what many consider a man of mystery.

A boy of few words, preferring instead to speak with his actions, his fists, and his stone-faced determination.

He was, in short, more a brick wall given life.

That was his present.

His past was the closed chapter he preferred to keep his stony silence on. His fellow scouts never once seemed to ask. Whether they cared to or not, it didn't matter as his silence would tell enough.

The young man capable of easily deadlifting a solid oak beam hadn't always been so.

Go back only three years and he would be unrecognizable to even his own mother.

A scrawny, weak, and tiny child, he grew up in a neighborhood that would probably make Pikeman wet himself regularly. The career path of choice for most in the area centered on car jacker or car salesman with odd retail jobs sprinkled between.

It wasn't until two years ago that his pituitary gland took pity on him and, rather painfully, transformed him into who he was now.

In six months, he gained easily three feet in height that left the doctors scratching their heads. In those weeks before and during, he ate and ate like his stomach was a black hole; chugging whey powder and calcium-rich foods as the only thing that seemed to settle the cravings.

His height shot up like bamboo, his muscles and bones bulked out, and he quickly outgrew a majority of his clothes and fellow classmates.

A downside to this change was what a doctor called alopecia universalis; total hair loss. Basically, his body f*cked up and said 'f*ck it; those hair follicles are germs now; send in the antibodies and wipe the bastards out'.

Still… regardless of the occasional stares and being mistaken for an older boy, he was enjoying his new lease on life.

Up until about three months ago.

See, as a weak and slightly pathetic child in those parts, he was no stranger to bullies.

Then, an old bully reared his ugly face and decided to 'teach him his place' as some kind of childish power play.

The bully sent Petrol to the Woodscouts.

Petrol sent the bully to the ER.

The courts proved the bully was the instigator, but couldn't let Van Petrol's… excessive aggressiveness slide. So, the punishment was toned down from time in Juvie to Woodscouts.

At first, Petrol couldn't really tell the difference.

The judge clearly had something in it with the Woodscouts High Council. The organization needed more 'recruits' and the justice system had an overflow of delinquents and preteen first-offenders. Their solution; send them to the Woodscouts to 'straighten them out'.

It was a win-win-lose. Win for the Justice System unloading problem children off their radar. Win for the Woodscouts, as they had more boys 'volunteered' for their sociopathic program. Lose for the scouts themselves.

Over the summer, he'd made… connections within the troop. Primarily with the only two other boys there more or less of their own free will; Billy and Pikeman… and later Germy.

While he could only stand Pikeman's over-inflated ego and overall unpleasantness for so long, he liked to see himself as the silent voice of reason. The referee to the patrol leader's more convoluted plans to 'recruit' more scouts. In the case of the bet that landed them Germy, that referee position as quite literal.

…

The downside to being that close to the creep was often being 'volun-told' to do the grunt work 'delegated' by their Patrol Leader, who decided he had better things to do than 'sully his hands with menial labor'.

Petrol grunted as he pounded his fist into Pikeman's **_spine_**\- … I mean… the large wooden spike he was driving into the ground.

The young man nodded with himself as he wrapped the rope around that spike and moved to the next in the setup.

The ropes course had to be updated after an accident left their newest 'recruit' plunging into the acid below… then being fished out and transported to the hospital for minor chemical burns. (Still, it waived him from camp for the next few weeks while he recovered).

However, when he fell, he took out entire sections of the wooden supports and tangles of rope which left the mess in desperate need of repair.

Hence, why Petrol was off that morning doing the grunt work… again. At least, he thought it was morning… the perpetual stormclouds above the camp made telling time a little difficult.

Though, they did look a little… murkier today.

He sighed, contemplating that it would mean rain. He hadn't gotten his 'weather' merit badge yet (one Pikeman had and was never afraid to flaunt), so he couldn't tell even without the bizarre weather phenomenon constantly over camp.

Regardless, if he hurried and made good time, he could probably be done before it hit.

He grunted as the stake went into the ground.

*THUNK*

*THUNK*

*THUNK*

*THWAP!*

He hummed in surprise as the stake suddenly shifted to the side. Angrily, he gave it a solid punch the other way and straightened it while in the dirt before continuing.

*THUNK*

*THUNK*

*TWHAP*

*CRACKLE*

Now his attention was on the stave that tilted, _again_, but also another stave already in.

The stave was part of a larger set. The one in the ground was connected with a two-half-hitch-double-roundabout-square-lashing to one pole slightly slanted, supposedly to make an archway eventually.

Now, however, the lashing seemed had to have loosened as the hitch was tilted and the other pole tilted as well.

Stalking over, he readed a punch to 'correct' the stave-

*CREAK*

The stave… _twitched._

Petrol paused to stare at it.

It remained still, but that creak… it was like the hitch lashing became a joint. It spasmed for a second before stilling again.

He stonefacedly stared at the thing, _daring_ it to do it again.

…

…

Nothing.

Nothing but the chill in the air.

*CREAK*

*CRACKLE*

*GROAAAAN*

*CRACK*

He blinked in surprise as he whirled around to see the other staves he'd lodged in place also creaking loudly.

Around him, the ropes course _moved_.

The staves in the ground wiggled and shifted, the lashings loosening, but the other staves still somehow remaining connected.

He uneasily backed away from the it all… unnerved, but refusing to show panic.

Panic was the first thing they drilled out of you in Woodscouts.

Fear was not tolerated.

Nothing couldn't be handled.

And he knew-

*twhip!*

He grunted as his ankle was suddenly snared by a piece of rope, toppling him to the ground. To his astonishment (_not panic_), more ropes seemed to spring out of existence, wrapping him up in a cocoon of twine.

Squirming, trying to free himself, he got on his side and saw the staves wrenched from the ground and rise to the air.

His neck craned as his head rose to follow them.

They connected in a gruesome shadow above him.

The stormclouds of camp flashed white with lightning and he glimpsed the… creature?

It was almost entirely made of the wood staves, spindly and creaking, converging in a single point like a Harvestman spider with many, many more legs. Ropes swayed loosely from it like torn ligaments, the few connected to the structure still were twisted around the staves 'joints' and shifted and creaked unnaturally with each shift.

He felt the cocoon jolt and he found his confinement twirled on a stave and being lifted like a child sadistically eyeing a grasshopper dangled by its leg.

The creature's body shifted and twisted as the center mass lowered itself down.

It wasn't all wooden staves. Tied into it, was a _person_. A small person.

A child.

Their limbs were tied up, wrapped around the staves surrounding them, but unlike him they seemed completely at ease with it.

Petrol gaped as the figure strained forward and the monstrous amalgamation obeyed, brining itself down so he could look face-to-face with…

The Campbell Camper?

It was no mistake; the blue hoodie and teal eyes were unmistakable even with the hair and clothing matted down slightly with blood. Their secretly-forged alliance to take down that cult creep had him working with his sadistic sense of humor and creatively elaborate mind.

He gulped seeing both of those expressed towards _him_.

"**Hiya, Petrol…**" The camper said, voice echoing slightly.

"**Nice camp, you got here,**" he remarked casually, the wooden construct shifting with his head craning back and forth on a teetering, twisted neck to look around. "**I didn't get a chance to really look at the ropes course up close last time you _KIDNAPPED ME_**_._"

Lighting flashed as his last phrase rattled ominously around them.

"**Still… props due… it's a complicated setup. So _easy_ to get _all…_**_"_

The ropes around him shifted.

"**_Tied_**"

They constricted uncomfortably.

**_"Up_**"

The boy smiled sadistically, "**I just thought… a little payback… might be niceeeeeeeeessshshssssss**."

The word didn't end, so much as devolve itself into hisses and clicks.

Petrol stared as the other camper's face mutilated. The head swelled slightly growing long, thick black hairs from the skin. Eyes bulged and blinked as they became black and soulless, with several more, smaller ones erupting from the skin around them like little black pimples.

His heart beat furiously in his chest.

He squirmed fruitlessly as his twine prison was drawn closer towards the mutated camper.

The creature's mouth split vertically up to the bridge of the nose and two enormous pincers unfolded from the depths clacking and clicking eagerly, slightly-greenish venom dripping.

Petrol could smell the potent, sour, acidic twinge from where he lay dangling.

The fangs got closer.

His breathing hitched.

Closer

His heart felt like it would explode

Closer

Panic

Closer

Panic!

Closer

_PANIC!_

The fangs gaped wide-

"**HELP**!"

The mutilated head reared back.

The camper faded like mist from the middle of the construct. Staves, ropes, everything fell in a mess on the ground with the ropes around Petrol himself loose and lifeless.

He sat panting in the middle of the mess leftover, unbelieving.

He lay there, realizing the trembling in his own hands.

For the first time in over three years, he felt as vulnerable as he'd been back when he was a tiny kid being tied to a swingset.

But what finally broke months of merciless training.

What finally cracked his stony discipline.

Was the fear that caused Petrol, himself, to scream.

* * *

…

…

"Stop glaring at me, asshole."

"I. Am not. The one. You can complain about," Jasper seethed. "What the f*ck was that, man?!"

"A haunting routine," Max tossed back casually.

"YOU ALMOST KILLED HIM!"

"'Almost' being the key word," Max retorted. "I honestly barely knew he could speak outside that stupid 'Xemug' impression he did."

"That's not the point and you know it! See those poles over there? They were real, Max! That construct! Real! THE VENOM; REALLY COULD HAVE KILLED HIM! We don't kill, Max! Ghosts don't make more ghosts! It disrupts _everything_!

"Do you even _CARE_, Max?!"

…

…

"Got nothing to say for yourself, huh?"

…

"Just shut fuck up and let's get a move on."

* * *

Snake… reluctantly also known as Billy Niksslip, was a hardcore scout.

Woodscouts was not a program designed for the weak. It was where the strong survived and the ruthless thrived.

Woodscouts toughened him up and, God, did he not regret it.

Gone was the previous 'Little Billy'. Dead and gone to the hours of roughing it in survival outings. Wasted away by the ruthless competition to get First Aid. Dashed by the physical fitness and all it entailed.

And thoroughly, resolutely, and brutally _crushed_… by the home economics merit badge.

Billy shivered slightly just remembering it.

He donned his uniform with pride.

He wore his eyepatch with glory.

…

But through it all, through every scrape and bruise and sleepless night… one little tendril of Billy Niksslip remained. A shameful reminder of who he used to be and just what he tried to work his way away from.

A sweet tooth.

And a slight chubbiness and babyfat that never seemed to melt off, no matter how many days of exercise he did.

His dear mother, God rest her soul… (at the spa she was probably at while he was out of the house for the summer) was too indulgent on him.

His father, whom he mercilessly assassinated… (in a video game co-op they played together one time) wasn't the male role model he needed in life, leaving him all alone in this cruel, cruel world.

Still, he'd seen it all and he was still here to show for it.

Knot tying.

Fire building.

Set-up in a rainstorm.

His glucose blood levels and diabetes risk factor.

Petrol's cooking.

_Pikeman's_ cooking.

…

**_Germy_**.

But that little, niggling craving for something sweet remained. That little fragment of Billy, the short, little, glutton, trying to worm itself out.

He lay on his cot, contemplating that, while simultaneously quelling the craving with his go-to sweet; an out-of-season candycane he licked to a shiv.

Useful for survival and also for picking locks.

He swiveled the candy stick thoughtlessly in his mouth-

"Ah!"

He winced as he felt the shiv stab into his tongue.

Pulling the candy out and sitting up, he swished his tongue around, and felt the tiny pinprick just in the middle along with the slight taste of iron and copper.

"Dammit," He muttered. This might hamper his ability to eat hard candies for a while.

"Yowch!" He yelped, dropping the candy shiv. Looking down, he saw the little bead of blood welling from his palm. Stabbed twice from one candycane? Either the shiv was really, really good or cursed.

He peered down a little forlornly at the sweet on the ground. Woodcsouts meant a lot of crap got dragged in and out of the tents. No matter the training, food on a tent floor was as good as poisoned.

He reached down, ready to pick it back up and toss it-

-when it _moved!_

Billy gasped as the candycane shiv sprouted a couple dozen little legs like a striped centipede and scuttled its way under his cot.

…

…

Billy blinked, and slowly reached for the box they came in.

December of 2013… a little expired… and probably not a good year for candycanes.

Slowly he eased back on his cot, trying to calm his (hallucinating) brain.

There were tons of rational, and sensible explanations to this whole thing.

…

…

What were the symptoms of diabetes again?

He stilled as he felt something _under_ his cot mattress.

No, some_things_.

Lots of little somethings.

Crawling and shifting and squirming under his mattress.

Right at his secret stash!

Billy cursed to himself; bugs! That had to be it! The candycane was really carted away by a bunch of ants or something and now they were after the stash of candy he kept in his mattress liner-

He shifted, ready to jump out and pull off his mattress-

-when something sharp jabbed his neck just at the base of the jugular.

Freezing, he looked down to see the candycane on his chest, the jagged point aimed directly at his neck…

And _most certainly not being held up by ants_!

Little white and red legs lifted the main shaft, looking like splinters off the hard candy itself. Despite no evident mouth or fangs, it seemed to chatter and hiss menacingly at him.

Still, the shifting and moving continued under him. Each little squirm poking his back and reminding him of his stash being eaten away or…

His lone visible eye (and the healthy one hidden beneath the patch) widened, as it refocused on the little piece of candy in front of him.

The _living_ piece of candy.

_RRRRRIIIIIIIPPPP_

Like the swarm was waiting for his realization, his mattress tore open to reveal countless candies and sweets crittering around on impossible legs, hovering with lacy candy-wrapper wings, and squirming like slugs all around his body. The candy shiv kept his body from moving an inch as they continued to advance.

Taffies.

Butterscotches.

Candied fruits.

Cinnamon disks.

Tootsie rolls.

Twinkies.

Ho-hos.

All coming back for their revenge.

He squirmed anxiously, feeling the little crittery legs scampering across him as they covered more and more of him.

"He-aulphphph!" His cry was cut off as the swarm advanced the minute his mouth opened wide enough. Instantly, his mouth was gagged with the wrappers and overwhelming sweetness of candies as they crawled and wriggled past his gums.

With an opening, more tried getting past, prying his jaw further and further. His tongue flush against his tonsils kept them from going back into his throat, but the choking, gagging sensation was making him tear up as breathing became more laborious through is nose.

Desperately, he tried humming loudly for help out his nose for as long as it remained unblocked, but even now, he could feel what felt like a Jolly Rancher poking its feelers around his nostrils.

The candy cane shiv poked his neck again, as if growing impatient.

The horde of candy behind him seemed just as antsy.

"D'awww…" A voice simpered.

His eye turned to see a figure just beside the tent. It was Max, from Camp Campbell. Except with a malicious glint to his eye and a long, bloody gash across his forehead leaking blood across a wide smile.

**"Sucks, doesn't it, having a candy-cane shiv pointed at you**." He simpered. Billy's stomach twisted as he remembered that time he stabbed Max in the back (quite literally) early on in the summer.

And then it twisted _again_.

And again.

_And again_.

"**What's the matter, Billy-kins**," Max mocked, "**You got a _tummyache?_"**

His stomach twisted once more.

And erupted.

Billy watched with numb horror from his vantage point as his uniform tore wide open along with his belly. Mutilated, digested candies rose from the soupy, candy-colorful mess like zombies. The other candies seemed delighted by this and continued crawling around, several more kept trying to stuff themselves in his mouth.

His tongue finally gave way.

An entire twinkie forced itself into his trachea.

He couldn't breathe!

Tears streamed down as all his hardcoreness slipped away faster than an ice cream on a hot July sidewalk.

He couldn't breathe!

His guts were out in the open!

_He couldn't breathe_!

…

And it was gone!

*hack!* *COUGH* *retch*

He threw himself over the side of his cot, coughing out the mere **_sensation_** of choking.

Scrambling out of the bed, he backed away from the mess on his cot, breathing in deep lungfuls of glorious, _glorious_ oxygen.

Nothing had been in his mouth. His airways were perfectly safe.

But that dream…

Or…

Getting a hold of his panicked breathing, he finally looked back at the bed he just vacated.

Perfectly still, perfectly normal sweets littered the mattress. No legs, no fangs, nothing. It was like someone had upended a Halloween candy bag on top of him while he was napping, nothing more.

He looked down, his uniform and body were both intact. No blood, no gore.

Still panting, he looked down at his hand-

"AH!"

He chucked the little candy cane stick across the room, where it landed back on his bed. Completely still.

…

"N-no more candy before bed," He promised himself.

…

The candy cane twitched.

"WWAAAAAAAAGHGGHHHHHH!"

He ran screaming.

* * *

…

"What? It was all a hallucination this time!" Max defended himself, smiling "innocently" as he invisibly floated the perfectly-normal candy cane in the air.

* * *

Scoutmaster Barkiss was a man of discipline.

He was a Woodscout when he was a boy, as his father was a Woodscout, as his father before was a Private in the home guard stationed at Los Angeles during World War II. Never saw the action, but Pearl Harbor was _that close_.

And as a disciplined Scoutmaster, he allotted himself certain… indulgences.

A perk to power, so to speak.

Hence why he found himself checking over his shoulder for any stray scouts as he walked through the Mess Hall.

Pulling out the key for the padlock to the fridge (little bastards would steal the place dry if they had the chance), he opened it and retrieved his prize.

A juicy, perfectly seasoned T-bone steak.

Ready for grilling in the Mess Hall's griddle.

Licking his lips, he slapped the sucker on the hot griddle with a decent pat of butter greasing the metal.

Instantly, the kitchenette was wafting the smell of gloriously cooking meat. He continued eyeing his prize as it sizzled and steamed and smoked on the griddle, while simultaneously glancing out and about for any signs of the little brats.

*creaaakk*

He whirled around, his vocal chords taught with a bellowing tirade ready to punish the brat with _double_ outhouse-cleaning duties-

-when he was faced with just a slightly ajar fridge, creaking slightly on its hinge.

"Oh," He muttered, easing back.

Shame, too, the tirade would've been a good one.

Glancing back, he supposed it would do no good to have the fridge's stock go bad. He stalked up to the door and shut it, locking the padlock once more.

Returning to his delicious prize, he added just a _dash_ of Worcestershire sauce and-

*creaaakk*

The same small sound drew his attention again.

The door to the fridge was open again. The padlock beside it on the counter.

He _knew_ he locked it.

"Alright! Who's the little wiseass?" He barked angrily. His voice echoed emptily in the room as no one answered. "So… we got ourselves a runner, eh? Well if you don't get out by the time I count to three… I got _double_ Kitchen Cleanup in mind _AND outhouse duties!_"

…

No response.

His favorite kind.

His mouth drew up in a sadistic sneer.

"One"

…

…

"Two"

…

…

"Thr-"

*squelch!*

He was brought up short by the sound of something squishy behind him.

Cautiously, he saw something flicker in the light of the slightly-opened fridge. His curiosity got the better of him as he got up to inspect the inside-

His breath caught as the fridge was filled with a veritable _ecosystem_ of rot and fungus! Fruits and vegetables were yellowed and _black_ with mold! Potatoes were shriveled with gnarled roots cragging out of the eyes. Milk bubbled and blorped out of the carton with the wafting smell of rancidness. Yogurt exploded out of the carton with a goopy blue fungus belching out spores.

And across the entire thing was this enormous black collection of squelching, _slorching_, **_shifting_** biomass of something spilling out onto the floor.

He backed away in horror and tore his gaze away as he heard more squelching behind him!

_The steak_!

He whirled around to see his steak not on the griddle, but a wide trail of shifted butter sizzling in its wake, the greasy path leading across the counter-

-to where his _steak was inching its way across the surface_.

Like it moved with its own consciousness, the slab of meat elongated and shrunk as it slowly and methodically slid across the countertop.

Barkiss stared with forlorn horror at his beautiful cut of meat, now soiled-

-and abject disgust when the thing ruptured in a swarm of maggots.

* * *

"What's with all the food stuff?"

"What? I'm hungry!"

"You know we don't eat right?"

…

…

* * *

Pikeman strolled leisurely across the campgrounds. Proudly boasting his multiple merit badges across the perfectly ironed sash (courtesy of a new underling to the troop being directed to do so by his _senior_ leader).

Of course, all this wouldn't be possible if not for his _profoundly_ exquisite leadership skills. Not that he'd brag, of course, but being a ladies man certainly had nothing to do with his prowess and skill and-

*thwap*

He startled, feeling someone whack him upside the head.

He whirled around. "Who did that?! I demand that-"

*thwap*

He hissed, hopping on one knee as he felt something hit his shin hard. "When I get my hands on you, I'll- woah!"

He was flipped on his back, realizing with dread that some invisible force was doing all of this! Camp Campbell campers, no doubt!

"Oof!" He was flung the other side.

Maybe not Camp Campbell.

"AaaaaAAAHHHHH" He felt something drag his heels as he clawed uselessly to scrabble for anything to hold.

With mortification, he felt something hook to his underpants and with a swift tug (and an even-more-high-pitched squeal) he was raised foot by foot up the camp's flagpole.

His mommy's special pink "Monday-only" undies she packed for him waving for all the world to see.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

"Huh," Jasper commented, looking up at the humiliated boy squirming on the pole. "That's really tamed down for you."

"Yeah, the gore was getting boring and I ran out of ideas. So, I just kinda got him out of the way."

…

"AH! AH AHHHH!"

"What'd you do to him now?"

"Made him think his pimples erupted with little baby spiders."

…

"…Remind me to never get on your bad side."

* * *

Germy Fartz ran (read: waddled) as fast as he could in his sweatpants.

Around him, other scouts were being harassed by floating objects. Pikeman was screaming incoherently from a flagpole a subdued and fearful Petrol was trying to get him down from. Snake was burying a mount of candy with the fervor of somebody trying to hide a dead body. And Scoutmaster Barkiss was covered in steak sauce and maggots.

"Hnnnggg," He groaned, "All this stress is bad for my IBS."

He hid in his tent, zipping the flap behind him.

The flap created a small cloud of dust.

His sinuses and mucousal lining kicked into over-reactive overdrive.

His stomach gurgled with the totally not-glucose-free buttermilk (?) pancakes this morning.

Plus his lactose intolerance.

Plus his IBS.

…

…

"Oh… oh, no!" He whined. "Not _again_!"

His nose tickled.

"ah."

"Aaah."

"AHHH!"

'Aw, beans,' he thought.

"ACHO-"

* * *

Pikeman was lowered from the flagpole, practically a glowing beacon of shame. Behind him, his overstretched undies lay like a waist-down pink-and-white cape. He'd stopped swatting away at his face, but whatever parts weren't red from humiliation were shiny with pain.

"Quick, we have to evacuate the camp!" He shrieked, his voice several octaves higher already.

The scoutmaster, evidently, already took initiative to hope into his Jeep and kick up dirt in his wake. Pikeman, Petrol, and Snake stared after probably their only ride out in numb disbelief.

"W-we have to stick together!" Pikeman tried again, turning to the entire troop of boys-

-That was just Pikeman… Petrol… and Billy.

…

They turned to see every single one of the unnamed extras in scout uniforms sailing away on a raft built out of the remains of several obstacle courses.

…

…

"Wait, where's Germy?" Billy asked.

"Good idea," Pikeman nodded, "He runs slow. If the ghost comes after us, we can use him as a meat distraction!"

They ran to Germy's tent-

-and opened the flap.

…

…

"Dear… God," Pikeman whimpered.

"They got Germy!" Billy screamed in abject horror.

Petrol lunged to the side and heaved up the entire contents of his stomach.

"Every man for himself!" Pikeman screamed, bowling over the other two in a blind attempt to run away.

The other two, not wanting to end up like Germy, ignored their 'leader's' actions and ran after.

Escaping Woodscouts altogether.

…

…

"Uh… Guys? A little help? … Anybody have a wet wipe? … Aw, beans."

* * *

…

"Uh… did you do _any_ of that?"

"No… That was _entirely_ just _Germy Fartz_." Max shuddered.

…

"… *ulp!* Oh, God, I didn't think you could feel nauseous after death."

* * *

**Day 2 of 3; The Evening**

* * *

"Like… can they just keep it _down_?!" Erin whined, filing her nails delicately. "I _swear_, they do those loud drills just to be so _anoyinggggg_."

"I know, I saw them doing a lap around the lake and one of them _winked_ at me," Tabii grimaced.

"Really?"

"Yeah, the one with the fake eyepatch," Tabii shrugged. "Totally a 'use-'im-then-lose-'im' situation if need be."

"Oh, _girrrls_~," They turned to see Sasha sashay in with a bottle. "Guess what just came in _imported_ from the mountains of Tibet?"

Erin gasped, "The llama-spit, Deathflower poultice face cream?"

"Yes!" Sasha hissed with glee, caressing the bottle, "Fermented in secret for 500 years, this cream is a _goldmine_ against aging. They said the neurotoxins of the Deathflower is a thousand times more potent than Botox and keeps wrinkles from _ever, even appearing_!"

"Oooooh," The other too cooed, eyeing the bottle excitedly.

Sasha flipped back her hair and began squirting liberal amounts of the cream on her hands and face, "Ahhh… I can _feel_ the effects already. Youth preserved and restored."

"Oh, my, _God_, you're like practically _glowing_," Erin gushed, turning back to her own mirror and fiddling with her hair to try and keep her heterochromia from being too bothersome without covering it again like she had early in the summer. "I wish I could pull off your looks, Sasha. _Everything_ flowerscout totally matches your eyes, hair, and skintone. Magenta, pink, white, salmon… it just goes so _naturally_ with you. Unlike _mine_."

"Cheer up, Erin," Tabii offered, "You have _two_ shades that can complement whatever you're wearing."

"But one _clashes_ with the other," Erin whined.

"Girls, not now," Sasha called over from the loveseat, "I can't relax with your imperfections."

"Yes, Sasha," They said in ashamedly practiced unison.

"I _swear_, you two are as bad as **90's patterned shorts** and f*cking-lame-ass-**lightup shoes**."

* * *

Max looked at Jasper with a little apprehension.

…

…

"_Do it_."

"With pleasure," Max cracked his knuckles.

* * *

Erin continued brushing her hair, staring forlornly at the mismatched freakshow of melanin production that were her eyes.

*crack!*

"OW!"

She jolted away to see Tabii hunched over and moaning, clutching her hip awkwardly. "Tabii, like, are you alright?"

"Y-yeah… just a l-loose joint, I think. *pop* Owwww!" Tabii groaned as a new series of pops echoed from her spine.

"Come over here and let's lay you down. I'll get a mineral water, okay?"

"Lemon-lime with triple-berry twist if you can find it," Tabii requested weakly from her vantage point lying on the sofa.

"You got it." With that the blue-nette walked away.

* * *

Erin arrived at the little commons area and pulled out the requested flavor from their fully-stocked fridges. She debated picking up a little snack or something, too, but remembered her diet plans and refrained. She'd already eaten a low-carb-low-fat yogurt this morning. Better not push it.

Passing by one of many mirrors along the corridors, she was again drawn to the reflection of her own eyes.

They were so… _off_.

She'd tried color contacts when she was younger, but they were too itchy and uncomfortable to wear often enough. And when she did, they made her eyes puffy, red, and inflamed. And _still_ slightly off-color!

She'd give anything for her eyes to match.

She could picture them now. Her one gold eye shifting to a lovely matching seagull-blue shade of the other…

A-actually…

She could almost positively _see_ it right now!

She blinked and rubbed her eyes furiously, uncaring if mascara was smudged or her eyes got a little puffy. She gaped at the reflection.

Two, beautiful blue eyes matching her cornflower blue hair.

"T-this is… no way…" She gaped.

Logically, it was just some kind of hallucination (_maybe_ all those hair chemicals weren't… the greatest on her Central Nervous System…) but it was still nice to indulge.

Two beautiful, blue eyes.

Two, perfectly matching, perfectly homochromatic, perfectly…

Perfectly…

…

She paused as the hallucination-mirror image took an off-kilter appearance.

The blue color she'd been adoring shifted to… a really ugly red.

And her mirror-self was grinning. She wasn't grinning like that!

She backed away slowly as the mirror image raised its two hands to cover both eyes, still leaving the smile grinning beneath.

…

The hands flew away in a macabre version of peek-a-boo, and Erin screamed.

The face, _her_ face, was dominated by two, evil eyes. The sclera a black, soulless void with two rings of blood red glowing in the center. The blackness oozed like runny mascara from her sockets to dribble under her chin.

The surrounding features of the mirror distorted horrifically like an oil painting smothered in turpentine.

Abandoning the water bottle, she ran back to her friends, but _every_ corridor had mirrors!

_Every_ wall had a dozen mirrors for a flowerscout to always look into and present her Best Self.

Now, they reflected some distorted, horrifying _other_ self that leered and grinned from every reflection.

"Tabii, Sasha!" She screamed, bolting into the area she left them.

"E-Erin…" came a weak voice from the loveseat she left the aching girl in.

But it wasn't the same girl.

Erin stepped back in horror as the figure raised a frail, wrinkly arm that creaked and groaned with each movement. Her face was a mess of lines and sags. Her lone eye faded and foggy with cataracts and her once-luscious hair now a steely, wiry white-gray.

"Erin… please…" Old-Tabii pleaded from the couch.

"S-Sasha!" Erin pleaded, turning to the loveseat her friend lay on. But like the shortest of their little trio, the same self-proclaimed leader wasn't there anymore.

She fearfully approached a small, sniffling toddler wearing a baggy Flowerscout uniform that was confusedly looking around the room while playing with locks of its long, pink, hair.

In her hand was the bottle of anti-aging cream.

"Erin…" Old-Tabii moaned.

"Wa-… waaaaaahhhhh!" Baby-Sasha sobbed. Even as she looked, Erin saw her form shrinking in on itself. The hair becoming wispy and downy, milk teeth receding into pink, fleshy gums.

"Erin…"

"I-I'll get Miss Priss…" Erin spoke aloud. "Sh-she'll know what to do!"

"E…e…r…"

Eyebrows drawn in confusion, the blue-nette turned to Tabii's couch…

…

-As the pile of dust spilled out like sand from the empty clothes.

The crying from Baby-Sasha stopped.

"No…" She whimpered, alone.

*Rap. Rap. Rap*

Her eyes drawn to the sound, she saw her mutilated reflections knocking faintly against the glass.

*Rap. Rap. Crrk*

Cracks started to form.

The black ooze seeped through.

"N-no! NO! NOOO!"

* * *

"AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!"

"KEEP IT DOWN, GIRLS! GARDEN-MOTHER'S GOT A WINE-HEADACHE!" Miss Priss barked from her private room.

Massaging her temples, she reached for her thermos full of calorie-free hard seltzer water. It's past five somewhere, right? Oh, wait.

She checked her clock, smirking.

"Five o' clock~" She sang, "Time for my carrot-stick dinner!" She gleefully plucked a singular carrot stick from a padlocked fridge and horked it down, savoring the crunch and calories.

Afterwards, she chased it down with a gallon of water that she pretended _really, really_ hard was a full steak dinner with _lots_ of mashed potatoes.

"Ah, that hit the spot," She sat back at the mirror, picking at her appearance.

A couple new lines she'd smooth out at her next Botox appointment. Maybe do something about that pesky gray hair streak starting to inch its way out again.

Wait…

She dove towards the mirror getting a close-up of her left cheek.

Was that…?

A _mole_?

Not a 'beauty-mark', but a full-on blemish wreaking havoc across her complexion. What's worse it had a _hair_ in the middle!

She 'tched' angrily and pulled out her concealer and tweezers. A quick trip to the dermatologist to get it lasered off should do the trick.

In the meantime…

She inched the tweezers closer to the hair and fiddled with it to clasp. The effects of her frequent alcohol consumption, coupled with the low-calorie dinner plan, made her hand-eye coordination spotty at best, so it took a bit of time to finally catch the little bastard in her tweezers' grip.

Aaaand

TUG!

*scchlip!*

…

…

The long-time alcoholic stared at what looked like a flap of her own skin peeled off like an orange. Just poking out was her perfectly protruding cheek-bone.

…

Hastily, she backed away, not taking her eyes off the horrific vision and pulled out her 'cane sugar', dumping it in the trash. Her dealer must be getting sloppy.

Still, she forced a grin as she sat back in front of the mirror.

"Keep to the routine, you've been through bad 'sugar-highs' before, Penelope," She muttered to herself, plucking her eyebrows in an attempt to ignore the _obvious_ horror on her face.

It was just a hallucination.

But it was a troublesome one!

The… the hallucination couldn't hurt… maybe she could just…

She hesitantly tugged on the flap of skin and…

*shlliiip*

Like a bad hangnail, it just got worse.

"It's fine, Priss," She muttered, eyelid twitching, "Just think of it like another beauty treatment. Peel away the old and reveal the _young_ and _youthful_ self beneath."

She kept going.

Peel away the old

And going

Peel away the rot

And going

Peel

Going

Peel

Going

Peel

Going

She stopped.

She stared.

…

Her face was a raw, bloody massacre.

Her skull showing through the rubbery flesh leftover.

She…

She…!

…

She never looked so… so…

**THIN!**

She beamed, or at least, she _thought_ as much, seeing her skeletal appearance always grinning. Just like the Botox treatments; smile till it hurt!

Well now it doesn't!

"Oh, God!" She shrieked, "_Hell-o beautiful_! Oh… it's rough, but let's just touch it up, m'kay?!"

With a hand trembling in excitement and manic euphoria, she plucked away at some stray eyebrow hairs marring the _vision_ of perfection!

"And some face-cream!"

The white lotion and facial creams mixed together across the surface in a macabre pink mess.

She laughed delightedly.

She would be the envy of all the other Garden Mothers in the district! In the Council! In the NATION!

"AHAAHAHAH! *snort* AHAHAAHAHAHAH!"

* * *

…

"Dude!"

"I know!"

"_DUDE_!"

"I know!"

…

"SHE'S CRAZY!"

"I KNOW!"

They drifted through the wall and away from the manic Garden-Mother smearing make-up and facial cream across her still-flesh-and-blood face. Eyebrows plucked out completely leaving her hairless, barren forehead looking more unnatural and bizarre. Her eyelid twitched every now and then.

Her exuberant cackle sent shivers down the ghosts' spines.

* * *

The evening spread across Lake Lilac, normally peaceful and quiet.

Tonight, the screams of two camps' worth of occupants echoed across the murky water.

…

Across the shore stood a lone figure, motionless and solemn.

…

It's scythe gleaming in the setting sun.

* * *

**AN: The Petrol scene was inspired by my personal hatred for lashings and staves in my time at Boy Scouts (still got Eagle, still stayed all the way through). The Billy scene was a little inspired by this scene from a movie about a young Sherlock Holmes that spiraled into something a little more gory. The Scoutmaster scene was definitely Poltergeist with a dash of the guest house fridge from Resident Evil 7.**

**Pikeman… yeah, I started getting pressed for ideas without things getting repetitive. I remembered that Scary Stories chapter for "The Red Spot" and added that last-minute. I thought it turned out okay.  
**

**Germy was… _Germy_… so I left that be.**

**As for the flowerscouts; this scene kinda just wrote out as-is, so I'm pretty impressed by that. Don't worry about Tabii and Sasha being Thanos'ed out of existence… 'ghost's don't make more ghosts'. It's just hallucinations.**

**Miss Priss was honestly just supposed to be another 'scare and leave' based on the face-peeling scene in Poltergeist… I have no idea where it went so… horrifyingly _wrong_… *shudder***

**Until next chapter; Thank you for reading**

**-Crow**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Get ready for FEELS!**

* * *

**Day 3 of 3; the Final Day**

* * *

Max sat quietly by the lakeside as the sun set in the west on his third and final day of 'probation' or whatever the hell Jasper called it.

Across from him lay the two camps he'd just terrorized yesterday.

Woodscouts had tents crumpled on the ground with setups and equipment loaded onto military-style trucks. The ever-present stormclouds actually _broke_ that morning and the decently-sunny day seemed to finally shine on the spot for the first time in years. Not that it mattered.

No scouts or scoutmasters remained, having run screaming or (in the case of almost 80% of the scouts) floated downriver in a raft and probably set up some kind of mock island civilization around a severed pig head and a conch shell.

Flowerscouts was actually more noticeably in worse shape. The ever-present 'sparkles and sunshine' dimmed to normal levels, leaving the area feeling gray and depressingly boring. Parents were there with traumatized scouts loading bag upon bag upon bag (_'God, how much shit did they each need?'_) of possessions in their minivans and burning rubber on the way out.

Seeing the trucks and minivans going one-by-one up the road and out of here made him casually wonder if the Hitchhikers found _the right one_ out.

He decided he didn't really care.

Either way, it looked like Camp Campbell was the last one standing, but with all these complaints… maybe not for long.

In three days, he had _singlehandedly_ caused more chaos and devastation than he ever could while alive.

So… why did it feel so… hollow?

Alive, he'd probably be reveling in it, probably joking around with Nikki and Neil-

Oh, right.

Aside from Jasper (whom he could call a casual acquaintance at best), he hadn't really been keen on forging any relationships with the other ghosts in the area. Most being too old (time-line-wise) to really understand any references or vines or memes or anything. Jasper was the most up-to-date compared to the next, a girl who still talked about the Great War in Europe.

So… yeah, it was shaping up to be pretty lonely, huh.

And he might've just f*cked himself over by sending the only people around running.

Yeah, it was f*cking hilarious, but the results had him reconsidering if they were worth it.

…

…

M-maybe Space Kid didn't leave yet…

The little fishbowl-boy might be annoying as hell, but… _somebody_ might be better than nobody.

And 'nobody' might be all he gets for a pretty long time.

…

*yank*

Max was jolted out of his rumination by what felt like a sharp tug against his back, like he had a f*cking string in there and somebody pulled on it like-

*Yank!*

"Woah!" He stumbled backwards as he felt the string pulled harder this time.

*YANK*

He shouted an endless list of obscenities as he felt his shoes' nonexistent grip on the ground lose to the force of the pull, slowly dragging him towards Camp Campbell.

Towards the Mess Hall.

* * *

(**That morning**)

"Okay, so here's what we have so far." Nerris explained, the pinup board behind her littered with old pages, scraps of newspapers, and paraphernalia they asked the Quartermaster for. "I think that we can confidently perform everything here."

"I think so, too. It sounds pretty straightforward," Harrison confirmed, in rare agreement with his magical rival. "We just need the supplies, I guess."

"We have some Holy Water," Sasha confirmed, holding a little glass vial of the stuff.

"Where'd you get that?"

"It was, like, a trend about a week ago as a skin clearer, but that guy in the white squid hat kicked up a fuss over the people doing it," Tabii explained.

"… I'm… not even going to comment on that…" Harrison said after a brief pause, just accepting the little vial.

"I found this old Ouija Board in the Quartermaster store," Nikki supplied, holding up a wooden board that looked like it'd seen Washington crap his first diaper. The board, itself, had the usual letters and included detailed burn patterns intricately tracing the borders. Harrison shivered as he felt the board almost _whisper_ at them.

"I have garlic," Germy supplied, holding up several full cloves which he kept… somewhere.

"Why on _earth_ do you have that?" Pikeman asked.

"No reason."

…

…

"Okay… just…" Harrison accepted the cloves in a 'conjured' handkerchief (which he was perfectly okay with burning at the end of this).

"I have, like, a wineglass from Miss Priss's stash in that Escape Room thing," Erin unwrapped the glassware from a delicately wrapped terry towel.

"I raided the kitchens, but the Quartermaster took all the salt, so I found some old road salt. Will that work?" Nurf hefted a large bag of the stuff alongside Petrol handling two more.

"I think so," Harrison said, consulting the board of pages.

"I got a horseshoe from the ring-toss game," Erid offered.

"Awesome."

"And we have plenty of candles from Woodscout survival kits," Snake said, holding out a bag of simple white candles.

The group all turned to the last person…

…

"Tch. Fine, it's not very _scientific_," Neil spat, angrily, "But I raided Campbell's old stuff and found a bunch of creepy taxidermy stuff. Here's a crow skull, okay? _Corvus Brachyrhynchos_." He gave over a fragile beaked skull a little longer than a hot pepper.

Harrison nodded gratefully as Neil sulked towards the back of the group with a huff. The magician put the stuff out in front of them and did a quick inventory check of everything.

"Alright… I think we're-"

"Wait!"

They all turned to see their little Space-Enthusing camper toddle his way over frantically. He got up to them and gave what looked like a little triangular doll made of sticks and what looked like an old eyeglass lense stuck in the middle and… Max's stuffed teddybear. "Here… these should help."

"But that's not on the list-" Nerris started.

"I know, but my aunty said it helps," Space kid interrupted, still pushing the little doll into Harrison's hands and laying Mr. Honeynuts in the middle.

"But… why Max's teddybear? It seems very rude," Dolph objected.

Neil scoffed, "Yeah, well, maybe the backstabber shouldn't have left it when he ditched us."

Nikki sent a sad look his way. Harrison cleared his throat, "Alright, let's get everything in order. Just like the book says."

The group of Campbell Campers (plus the four Woodscouts and three Flowerscouts) headed off to the Mess Hall each helping haul the stuff over.

…

Nikki hung back from the group and noticed Space Kid looking quietly at the ground. She hesitantly approached, "S-Space Kid?"

"Huh? Oh, hi, Nikki," He said nasally. His usual, cheerful reverb didn't echo as much inside the confines of his bowl.

"I just… wanted to ask you why you brought over the teddy bear. I know Max isn't here anymore, but…"

"Nikki?"

"Yeah?"

"It's important. Please, just trust me?"

…

"Okay."

With that, they both headed into the Mess Hall.

The sun was starting to set.

* * *

The group sat around an uninterrupted ring of salt.

The wineglass balanced upside-down on top of the Ouija board. The garlic cloves lay just within the white circle of salt but a healthy distance from the Ouija board itself. Outside the circle, Harrison sprinkled the Holy Water liberally like the book said to. His parents, deeply religious, taught him how to respectfully handle it.

The crow skull sat outside the Ouija Board beside the entrance which Petrol hoisted Erid up to nail the horseshoe above.

Inside the circle was Mr. Honeynuts just off to the side of the board itself, the lone button eye looking down forlornly.

The sun was approaching twilight and the full moon was just peeking over the horizon, a dull copper color. That was when the book said everything would be the most powerful. Nerris lit the candles around and within the circle, bathing the room and the patch of floor in a flickering yellow light.

When everything was set up and nobody remained inside the salt circle, Harrison stood up.

"Is everybody ready?" Harrison asked somberly. Everyone nodded in response and he held out a hand to Nerris who took it.

Harrison looked down at the pages in front of him and read:

**[Gnihsarc tpek ppa ym nehw snossel ognil oud pu evag I dna Nital etirw tonnac I. Sesnopser tihsllub em gnivig tpek ti dna etalsnart Elgoog ro siht rehtie saw ti. Srettel sdrawkcab esu I won os.]**

The intonation stopped.

…

The candlelights flickered in still air.

Their ghost was present.

* * *

"What the FUCK!?"

Max was floating against his will inside the mess hall. Around him, everyone from Camp Campbell and a bunch of Woodscouts and Flowerscouts stared at something in the middle of the floor.

He followed their gaze down-

"Oh, you've gotta be shitting me." Max said.

A oujia board?! Seriously?!

Of all the bullshit things to do, they decide to "_summon"_ him with a bullshit Hasbro board game? Oh, well now _he's_ gonna get back at them. Haunting; Part II.

He zoomed out-

…

And found himself unable to leave the circle.

"The hell?"

He tested it on all sides. He couldn't go past the circle of salt surrounding the little spot on the floor. He tried zooming up through the ceiling, but it was a solid now as it was to him when he was alive. Same with the floor. It was like he was a fish in one of those floor-to-ceiling cylindrical tanks.

But the campers didn't so much as peek up at him. They still couldn't see him.

Aside from Space Kid, who kept shooting glances his direction.

"You bastard! You did this!" He accused. Space Kid's head shook slightly and his eyes pointed towards a bundle of papers in front of Harrison. From the gibberish, archaic yellowing, and general creep factor, Max would be willing to bet it came from the Quartermaster.

"Bullshit, creepy old f*ck." He muttered angrily.

He looked around the circle. It was pretty barren outside of a couple things.

The Ouija board, a wineglass, a creepy-ass stick doll thing, and-

"Mr. Honeynuts!"

He gasped, rushing towards the plush toy, only to find it going right through him. Just like every other thing in the world since he died.

Still… this was probably one thing he definitely missed.

He tucked himself beside it, just reveling in the closeness to an object he was attached to in life.

It felt safe.

It felt… grounding…

'_Wait, what?_'

"It's here!" Harrison whispered. Max looked at them all and saw the wineglass had cast a light on everyone. From inside the wineglass's bowl upturned over the board.

Inside was a small light.

Somehow, Max _knew_ it was part of him.

"Is this the ghost that's been haunting us?" Harrison asked clearly.

Max felt a stab through his chest as he wanted really, really badly to answer 'no'.

…

The wineglass moved.

**YES**

"The hell? Nononononono!" Max panicked, redoubling his efforts to get out of this. He shot himself in front of Space Kid, who carefully avoided eye contact. "Come on! You gotta know how to help me! Let me outta here! Nudge some salt out of the way! Sneeze on Harrison! Something!"

"Why are you doing all of this?" Harrison continued.

Max grunted as an answer came to his mind.

[_Because it's fucking fun_]

Behind him, he heard the wineglass scraping across the wood board. Outside it, Nurf was diligently writing down every letter.

He didn't need to know what was written to guess what the phrase was that the board eked out.

"This is such complete _bullshit_," Neil spat from his spot towards the back. "It's just more of Harrison's f*cking tricks!"

"Neil, I promise I'm not doing anything. Not this time," Harrison swore, holding up his hands defensively.

"Oh, yeah," The science-whiz contested. "I've played this f*cking game before! You're supposed to know shit, right? That's why people pull you out at sleepovers, to ask if they'll _get married_ or _if that cute boy they like will, like, totally ask them out_," He said the phrases in as mocking a girl-voice as possible.

The flowerscouts looked away, a little abashedly.

"Well, answer this, o' spirit of the beyond," He mocked. "Did Max even care about us when he left?!"

…

**YES**

…

Neil's eye twitched angrily, "Bullshit! H-he just _left_ us and didn't even think to look back! That's not- just, grrr!"

"Neil, calm down! You're upsetting the spirit," Nerris whispered harshly, staring at the wineglass anxiously.

Max followed their gazes down and saw the flame in the glass had become a violent red.

Good!

[_You're just angry because you're stuck here_]

"No! It's that we're stuck here without him, _too_! We were his _friends_! I could've hotwired the bus and been outta here on Day 2! Nikki made friends with every creature in the forest, for f*ck's sake! She could've lashed wolves to a sled and been out by Wednesday if she wanted to. We could've been out just fine, but we _stayed_. We stayed because we wanted to get out _together_! Clearly, he just thought we were useful for the time being!"

The small flame in the bell shone a deep, somber blue.

"Why didn't he take us with?" Neil asked quietly, Nikki looking down beside him.

Max surprised himself as he heard the wineglass shifting.

[_He didn't think it'd work_]

"Huh…" The ghost swallowed a little harsh, even if he had none of the biological processes to even do any of that. Stupid ritual was making him all off-kilter.

"So why didn't he come back?" Nikki asked.

Max's heart skipped a beat… or whatever the ghostly equivalent to it was. The pain was harsher and he tried fighting it-

[_He can't he did he is._]

"W-what?" Neil asked, anger abating for the first time in almost three days as Nurf read out the page. "That doesn't make any sense! A-and what the hell do you mean 'he can't'? Is Max okay?"

…

…

The wineglass stayed thankfully still.

Neil growled. "_Is Max okay?_"

Space Kid blatantly looked at Max, as the planchette stayed still.

"FUCKING ANSWER ME!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Max roared back.

The flame in the wineglass flared a violent crimson, before shattering its container in an explosion of ethereal flames. Campers shrieked and ducked for cover. Pikeman shrieked shrilly and ran with his hands flailing over his head, screaming about being haunted forever.

When everything settled back down again, everyone found the candles all burnt out and the fading twilight barely illuminating the room.

"The spirit's gone," Harrison announced, eyeing the candles and the shards littering their circle. "I… I think we should call it quits."

Nerris nodded, "C-concurred."

The campers and scouts all slowly left the Mess Hall, none willing to be caught by the counsellors and taking the blame for the mess…

…

All save Nikki and Space Kid.

Space Kid seemed to be holding her back from leaving and they approached the circle again, Kid motioning for Nikki to sit with her.

…

Slowly, like the flames were waking themselves up, the candles reignited again, bathing the room in its glow once more.

"M-Mr. Ghost? Or "Mrs.", no offense… or maybe just "Ghost"? I dunno what a gender-neutral term is… um…" Nikki stammered and rambled, until Kid grabbed her sleeve and gently tugged.

Space Kid sent a pointed stare at Max, himself and then at the weird little doll thing with the little circle lens jammed in it.

"O-oh!" Max realized.

He glided himself down from inside the salt circle and moved the "doll" so it was flat against the board.

The small circle lens was just the right size for each letter.

And just like that, the new planchette shifted itself out of his hands and to the HELLO mark.

"H-Hello…" Nikki greeted back, awkwardly.

Space Kid stood up and started toddling away, leaving Nikki alone in front of the circle.

"I-I need to ask something. Space Kid told me I should talk to you… I dunno really how to go about this…" She stammered, then steeled herself and scooted closer to the board.

Max drifted down so he was almost nose-to-nose with her if not for the invisible barrier.

"I talked with my squirrel friends the other day," She confessed. "I asked them if they saw 'angry-blue-boy-with-tired-eyes' leave the forest. Heh… that's their name for him, y'know." She chuckled a little.

Max blushed in embarrassment. F*cking squirrels.

"I mean, yeah, they took over the old camp and are essentially trying to doppelgänger our lives," She casually continued. "But I have my connections. A couple jars of Skippy's and they're willing to negotiate. Especially the crunchy stuff."

She dropped the line of topic just as fast, "My point is… I'm worried if Max ever made it out."

Her voice choked and she looked down.

…

…

"Ghost?"

…

"I-Is Max dead?" She looked up.

Max's gut dropped as he saw her eyes shining with tears.

"If he's dead, he's probably with you or you'd know," She sniffled, "And I thought, 'maybe he's a ghost. He's probably stubborn enough', huhuh," She choked out a wet laugh. "A-And I wanted to ask if…"

Max swore, if not for the vacant distance in her eyes, she was looking him dead in the eye.

"Are you Max?"

…

The planchette moved towards the YES/NO region-

-And stopped.

[_Can't tell_]

Nikki bit back harsh tears and harsher words.

"C-Can you take me to him?"

**NO**

"I-If he's dead… I wish I were with him, too. He's my best friend."

Max's brain overloaded in panic.

**NO**

[Doesn't want]

**NO**

[Stop]

[Stay]

[Don't want]

[Doesn't want]

**NO**

**NO**

**NO**

**NO**

"Stop it! Just…" Nikki paused, "I just wish he were back here. That he'd drag us into some crazy adventure again. I didn't have a lot of friends and when I came here, he was one of my first ones since coming here. He might not be a good one, sometimes, but I miss him a lot."

"I just don't want him dead…"

…

…

Max turned away and reached down to physically interact with the little triangular doll as he slowly dragged it across the board towards GOODBYE.

*sniffle*

…

…

Nikki looked up at the sound of shuffling on the board.

[_Sir Duckington_]

"Huh?" She sniffled, wiping her eyes.

[_Max would've named your baby platypus Sir Duckington_]

Nikki smiled, still crying, "I like it."

Max allowed a completely unseen smile as he started moving the planchette towards the GOODBYE once more.

When he was stopped by a bone-chilling coldness.

* * *

[_No_]

[_Stop_]

[_Help_]

[_Help_]

[_Keep away_]

[_No_]

[_Help_]

[_Help_]

[_Help_]

Nikki stared at the little wooden doll thingy in worry and fear. It was frantically hopping across the board so much that she could barely keep up with what it was saying. She slowly stood up and leaned away in fear.

*clatter!*

She whirled behind her at the sound. The crow skull lay smashed in a thousand pieces and the iron horseshoe was on the wooden floor; glowing orange with heat and smoking a hole in the floor.

"W-what's going on?!" She cried, turning back to the board

[_He's coming_]

[_He's coming_]

[_He's coming_]

"W-who's coming? What's coming?!"

*FWOOSH*

She held up a hand as the salt circle was blasted back like a mini sandstorm. Salt grains and garlic cloves peppered her arms and face.

In front of her, the little wooden planchette was sliced cleanly in half, dead center in the sandstorm's fallout.

…

And where the salt circle used to be, a figure taller than David stood eerily still. His black cloak completely obscuring his face and body.

A horribly sharp scythe still poised like he'd just swiped something. Nikki could guess; the planchette.

And ducking just outside the scythe's arc-

"MAX?!"

* * *

**AN: Fun fact; my dad read me George Orwell's '_Animal Farm_' and '_Lord of the Flies_' as bedtime stories when I was a kid between the Harry Potter series coming out and after my Doctor Seuss phase.**

**Just in case anybody got the goat-head and conch shell reference.**

**I think we also started, like, one page of _The Shining_ and he decided 'maybe this one isn't a good idea' (having read it and looking back; I agree, dad, that might've messed me up a little) and we started a 'Harry Potter' book instead.**

* * *

**AN: I feel like Nikki got a little OOC in there, but to be fair we've never really seen her handling death, have we? I mean, death of someone she _knew_. Jasper was always dead and just a weird kid on the island to her.**

**I dunno. Halloween deadline's coming up and I really wanted some kind of reconciliation between Nikki and Max. This just seemed to write itself out.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Second to last-chapter.**

* * *

"N-Nikki!"

Max was _there_. Max, was back!

Max was a _ghost_!

There was a Grim Reaper guy here!

Her brain seemed to fumble with trying to figure all of this out.

The only thing that shone through, was that this guy was trying to get Max.

So… she relented to her instincts.

She growled and crouched on all fours, baring her teeth at the taller figure.

She lunged at the creature, ready to take out its legs!

Just follow her instincts!

…

And then she sailed through it like it was just a puff of wind.

In front of her she glimpsed the wood cabin wall.

Instincts bad.

*bam!*

* * *

"Nikki! No!" Max shouted, looking back at his friend. She groaned dazedly and thumped her head back down in defeat.

Grim wasn't perturbed in the slightest, steadily advancing towards him, Gardening Tool of Doom raised threateningly. Max scampered backwards, the circle and all the voodoo magic crap now undone, he flew out the doors as fast as he could, still feeling the weightless swimming sensation of the ritual for the time being.

Above them, the full moon was steadily climbing. Max desperately remembered Jasper's advice and David's astronomy lessons; when the moon was dead-center, that was midnight. He just had to tough things out until then.

The campground was littered with everyone at the séance, quietly packing things up and speaking softly to one anther about what went on in that building.

Dolph looked up, confusedly, "Does anybody else hear zat?"

The campers took a pause from their mulling conversation. It was true, they could pick up a definite faint but growing cry. One that sounded very familiar.

"hhhheeeeEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPPPP!"

They jumped backwards as a small figure in blue literally _flew_ between them, feet trailing behind.

"Max?!"

In that gap they left, a huge cloaked figure glided past ominously.

"AAAAIIIIIIEEEE" The Flowerscouts (and Preston) shrieked frantically and bolted in the opposite direction. Most of the others followed suit, 'nope'-ing the f*ck away from whatever the hell was going on.

Neil, his scientific brain still sputtering confusedly, just looked onward at the (_probably_) ghost of his friend being chased by the (_probably_) Grim Reaper itself, swiping his scythe left and right at Max's ankles.

*SLAP!*

He blinked dazedly before a hand yanked him down to waist level and he was face-to-face (er, well fishbowl) with Space Kid.

"Neil, I need you to help me!"

"Space Kid, I am in the middle of an existential crisis about the validity of science! I can't tell you the first couple digits of _pi_ right now-"

Space Kid banged his helmet angrily, like a pissed-off alarm clock, "Not what I meant! Just follow me and do what I say! We might be able to save Max!"

Neil looked back at the figures zooming around the campgrounds in a terrifying game of tag.

He nodded.

* * *

"Haaaah," David sighed contentedly, "Nothing beats a good day or two in the woods."

He looked dreamily up at the full moon. About 9 PM, he'd say. Might as well check in on the campers and get things ready for-

"Outta my way!"

"M-Max?! Bwahh!"

*woooosh*

A tall black incarnate of Darkness glided past.

"Uuugggghhh-"

*thud*

Nobody at the scene particularly noticed David drop in a dead faint.

* * *

The chase felt endless to Max and, at the same time, like a dizzying blur of time all condensed into maybe five minutes. The passing of the moon felt like the only thing keeping him sane and even then, it wasn't nearly high enough to count as 'midnight' nor fast enough to be considered interesting.

Thank f*ck the whole not-having-a-body thing included not needing air or oxygen. He'd been running… er, _flying_ for the entire time and hadn't felt the slightest bit winded. No muscles to burn, no joints to ache, no lungs to hack up. It was all just… movement.

It would be kinda fun if he wasn't running for his after-existence.

He yelped involuntarily as he felt the blade skim him enough to leave a woosh of air.

Problem with this whole 'never get tired' shindig; Grim didn't get tired, either.

Go f*cking figure.

He made another lap around the Lake, just passing the canoes, when he felt himself wobble.

* * *

"This is bullshit!"

Space Kid kept fiddling in the weeds. He glanced up at the moon; time was running out, but he needed those herbs if he was gonna help Max! Thankfully his aunty taught him how to identify this plant better than poison ivy.

"I mean, the ghost was _Max_ the whole time?! … actually, _that_ I can believe, he's an asshole, but _ghosts are real_?!"

Kid's helmet started getting foggy as his breath got huffy.

"Well, I mean, I guess we met Jasper and he's a ghost, so it's not news, exactly, but it still goes against everything science has told us!"

A low growl emanated from the foggy helmet, as the hands kept rummaging through the dense forest undergrowth.

"It's not scientifically possible! And now we've got some Grim Reaper, too?!

"This.

"Is.

"Complete-"

"NEIL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

…

Neil was stunned into silence by the outburst from the normally cheery and clean-mouthed camper. Kid's helmet was completely fogged over giving the impression he was looking at a white orb planted on top of a space-suit.

The arm for Kid's suit wiggled and deflated, hanging limp. A second later, a finger smudged from inside the helmet and poked out two 'eyes' in the fog for Kid to glare through.

"Neil, you need to focus!"

"But what's a bunch of f*cking weeds going to do to-"

*sqk sqk sqeeeek*

He paused as the squeaky sound of smudging glass drew his attention back to Kid.

He'd now drawn angry-eyebrows and a matching frown inside his helmet.

…

"Look through the weeds for magical plants. Got it," The scientist gave a shaky thumbs-up.

Neil's brain wasn't sure how much more of this shit he could take. First off, ghosts exist (not as paradigm-shattering as the first time with Jasper, but still). Second, _Max_ is a ghost (second-and-a-half; Max is _dead_!). Third, the Grim f*cking Reaper is _real_.

And lastly, Space Kid has some kind of secret ghost-whisperer-medium power that's been in his family for generations and he's got some voodoo recipe to keep Death at bay.

Go figure he picked Neil of all the campers to go with him!

Now he was stuck in the outskirts of camp looking for some magical flower! What is this, one of Nerris's f*cking D&D campaigns? Were the Hell are they gonna-…

"BINGO!" Space Kid shouted victoriously, holding up an uprooted plant with a gorgeous white blue-bell-like flower on the end glowing faintly in the full moonlight.

"Get the salt, Neil! It's time to do or die!"

Kid bounced off, plant in hand, back towards the Mess Hall.

…

…

"D-die?"

* * *

Max had finished his most recent lap in the endless chase as he felt it.

Gravity.

At first, he thought he was expending some kind of ghostly energy and was slowing down (a terrifying thought), but he was still going as fast as the grim reaper guy (maybe a little _faster_, considering his panic). Then, he started realizing it was the feeling of 'weight' coming back to his incorporeal body.

Sure enough, as the 'weight' returned, he found his flying-form drifting closer and closer to the ground.

He made a dash with the last of his flying towards camp when the power completely deserted him. In a crash worthy of the Hindenburg, he tumbled to the ground and landed yards away in the dirt meeting area in front of the flag pole.

Shakily, he got back up on spectral legs, gravity feeling more foreign at the moment.

He hazarded a guess behind him-

The Reaper had decided he was going to draw this out more.

He stood at the edge of the lake ominously, a cold fog drifting above the water where he stood.

Then, like a serial killer stalking a bitch-who-was-too-stupid-to-get-the-f*ck-back-up (namely; _Max himself_), the entity very slowly glided forward, intent to slash him in half with his scythe evident in every 'step'.

Max's eyes widened as the being now stood directly in front of him.

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to glide. Nothing.

Nothing except the harsh crescent gleam of moonlight against the scythe.

…

The Reaper's arm rose-

"HSSSSS!"

It hissed and screeched as a handful of white powder made contact with it, the robes smoking where they touched. The creature was forced to retreat a few steps away.

"H-Holy shit, this works?!"

Max looked back and saw Neil and Space Kid standing side-by-side. Neil holding up a little construct made of sticks and thread like what Space Kid had put in the séance circle with Space Kid holding his upside-down helmet filled to the brim with salt flecked with little herbs and sparkles.

"Yeah, back off my friends!" Space Kid shouted, flinging another handful of salt at the entity.

"Neil?! Space Kid?!" Max shouted happily.

"I have no f*cking idea what's going on! Just run! We'll buy you time!" Neil shouted over his own panicked breathing, still holding the little dreamcatcher-thingy arms-length away towards the entity.

"Neil! I'm sorry I left!" Max apologized. "I never wanted to upset you or Nikki-"

"Max, this isn't the f*cking time!"

"Yeah, but… I wanted you to know I'm sorry! Like, _actually_ really sorry!" Max shouted.

"I forgive you and shit! Max, we are holding off a _literal incarnate of Death_ here! Now run!"

Max looked at the two for a moment before running. Further into the forest.

* * *

Max followed the path winding along the way to the main road connecting all three camps. He figured if he was going to last, he needed to spread out!

He just reached the asphalt-

*wham!*

He was thrown back like he'd just slammed himself right into a wall made of jello.

Flat on his ass, he looked up at the road in front of him and rushed forward, again coming to a stop just at the edge of the asphalt marking the property border. "What the f*ck?!"

"Why so glum, _chum_?"

Max looked up to see Ezra, Phineas, and Gus smiling broadly across the street, hands out in the distinctive hitchhiker pose.

"Ha! More like _chump_! Hyeeehhehahhahahaha!" Gus cackled wheezily.

"What the f*ck are you talking about?! What the f*ck is this?" Max said, pressing against the invisible wall again.

"Well, you see, that wall is a particularly interesting part of this place. You can't leave, just like we couldn't," Ezra explains. "Your rules are your own and you need to figure out how to leave, but now you're stuck in the same position as we are; locked onto this plot of land and bound to it, unable to leave. Oh, and bad luck it happens on the day that old Grimmie came 'round."

"Hehe, got suckered into that deal, didn'tcha?" Phineas grinned.

The tallest clicked his fingers like a snap, "Ah, yes, you see, learning some of our tricks also passed a little bit of our own curse onto yourself. So sorry about that," Ezra waved off easily.

"What?!"

"Still, we should thank you." Ezra continued, uninterrupted, "One of those cars was the _right one_ for us. As it so happened, when they were leaving the place, then they realized they needed more of that abhorrent lotion or something and doubled back. We decided to stop by this road one last time rather than cross the boundary again and lo and behold; we find _you_!" His skeletal grin broadened.

"So… from the bottom of our undead hearts; _thanks_," He cackled, bowing low and mockingly.

Headlights blared from down the road and Max glimpsed a frantic Miss Priss manically plastering her face in makeup and skin cream.

The car passed the hitchhikers and they vanished instantly.

Max turned to see the three grinning ghosts in the backseat of her car; waving out the rear window at him.

"NOOO! YOU BASTARDS!" Max roared, pounding against the barrier.

"RYEEYEYYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

A bone-chilling shriek echoed through the forest.

Terrified, Max booked it away from the road, running away as fast as he could.

* * *

"RYEEYEYYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

"Ehhhh! I think it's lost its patience," Neil screamed as Death let out an enraged roar.

The figure's blazing red eyes glowed beneath the hood and Neil yelped as the construct he was holding burst into flames.

"No! The talisman!" Space Kid panicked. "Without it, the salt isn't powerful enough!"

Even now, pelting salt wasn't enough to keep the Reaper at bay as it slowly rose back up to its full height.

He looked down at the fishbowl of remaining salt.

He heaved it in a quick circle as he flung it at a tree just beside the figure. The fishbowl shattered right above it and the stuff spilled everywhere on top of it like a pinata of magic-infused road salt.

It screeched again as the salt hissed on contact with the thing's cloak.

"RUN!" Space Kid shouted fearfully.

Neil didn't need to be told twice and booked it ahead. He picked up the toddling boy under his armpit like a football so the other wouldn't be left behind. He got as far as the general tent area.

Then, in a swirl of darkness, the figure materialized in front of them.

The red in its eyes grew deeper as it looked murderously at the two of them.

For one second, Neil was terrified he and Space Kid would be the next to join Max's ghostly haunts.

Then, the entity looked up at the rising moon and a snarl echoed deep within the cloak. It looked back at the pair and swished its hand aside in one motion.

Neil felt himself being pushed by an unseen force and thrown aside, Space Kid in hand.

The figure moved ceaselessly in a specific direction of the forest.

Honing in on the one troublesome soul that was doing its damnedest to escape it.

* * *

Max slid through underbrush, none of it catching his jacket or incorporeal body anymore. The moon was almost high enough! He could make it!

Hope fled and plummeted the second a dark figure emerged in front of him.

"Max!"

The figure stomped a foot and light-up shoes graced the clearing. "Jasper! Holy f*ck, I'm so happy to see you!"

"Come on, we can't stick around!" The other ghost urged, tugging on Max's arm.

The two ghosts moved further and deeper into the forest.

"It's almost midnight!" Jasper announced, "You've got, like, fifteen more minutes to go!"

"Hah! I've been running this long! Fifteen minutes is nothing!" Max crowed.

Then the trees started shaking.

It was like when Max was in control of the Woodscouts' supplies, but far more expertly handled. Vines and branches snaked across the floor and between the trees, making a criss-cross maze of vegetation.

*crrrreeeakkk*

"Look out!" Jasper cried, pulling Max out just as an enormous tree fell in their path.

*thunk*

Max's heart dropped as a silver scythe embedded itself just in the trunk where he might've been. The figure seemed to be pulling against its weapon as it was firmly embedded in the tree.

Max felt almost a twinge of glee and amusement.

But a red pulse through the scythe took care of that.

The trunk erupted in a kind of slimy, black fungus that spread across it too quickly to be natural. In seconds, the decaying trunk was weak enough that the figure ripped out the scythe and most of the tree's splinters with it. It advanced angrily as the trunk quickly flaked into ash.

"Max, keep going!"

The pair zoomed between trees with the entity just behind, swiping trees left right and center, all falling and decaying before they could even touch the ground.

"Split up!" Max shouted.

Max went right, Jasper (thankfully) went left and the Reaper was confused slightly which figure it was chasing, seeing as _both_ gained its ire.

Max raced by trees, and doubled back in a sharp twist. He could feel the cold presence behind him ebbing and flowing, but not as strong as it was before.

The vines and branches had slowed down the further he got from the entity until they were practically still.

The cold presence almost completely gone, he stopped for a moment to hide behind a tree. Peeking between branches on the other side, he couldn't make out any gleaming metal or inky blackness.

He sighed in relief.

"_Max_!" He heard Jasper's voice hiss quietly. The 90's ghost waved from behind his own tree.

Max smirked. They lost the f*cker.

This was going to be-

*slck*

A sound like a knife carving into a pumpkin echoed through the clearing.

Max whirled behind him and saw nothing there.

He looked back to Jasper.

And both stared disbelievingly in the curved point jammed right through Jasper's chest.

The figure grew from the darkness behind him, tall and ominous, Jasper's incorporeal body dangling off the scythe.

"M-Max," Jasper whispered. Max choked a gasp as Jasper's outstretched hand started flaking to ash.

"…Run…"

And like a fragile piece of paper in water, Jasper faded away.

"Jasper… no…" Max shook his head, pleadingly, at the now-vacant scythe blade.

Max stared up as the figure advanced one more time. Its dark hood was pierced with furious red eyes, as though it could sense the approaching midnight and decided it was time to move things along.

"….mmmmmaaaaAAAAAAXXXXX!"

Max looked up and saw an enormous wolf bound towards him, a familiar rider on its back. "Nikki!"

"Hop on! Hurry!" The figure, sensing its prey was almost escaping (_again_) gave a shriek as it swiftly glided forward, weapon outstretched, but by then Max had already hopped on the creature's back, riding away from it.

* * *

"Hiya, Max!" Nikki waved to her passenger, shouting over the rushing wind.

"Nikki, oh, thank God! What time is it?!" Max cried out, trying to concentrate on keeping his body corporeal-enough.

"It's five minutes until midnight! Space Kid told me that tonight was important for some reason!"

"Yeah! I need to last until then to stay a ghost! Otherwise big, dark, and creepy back there will scythe me out of existence! Can this thing go any faster?" Max shouted.

"That's a lotta pressure to put on a gal!"

"How do you think _I_ feel?!" Max retorted incredulously.

Max stared up at the moon, stagnantly hovering almost directly above him as the treetops and branches whizzed past.

"It's almost midnight! We're gonna make it!" He cried happily.

"YIPE"

The two were flung off their steed into a small clearing as the wolf stumbled to the ground.

"Owowowow," Nikki hissed. "Wolfie, what's- *gasp*."

Max's eyes widened as the wolf's form slumped and faded into gray ash. The blade of the scythe rose behind it along with the rest of the figure.

It raised its sleeve and a skeletal hand pointed out in silent threat.

Pointed straight to Max.

Like a parent on an overindulged children's game.

_This Ends Now_.

In a swift movement, Death swooped away from Max and grabbed Nikki. It hoisted her up by her suspenders and held her aloft.

The scythe raised just under Nikki's chin, the threat clear.

"No! It's me you want! She's got nothing to do with anything _I_ did!" Max shouted boldly.

Death's scythe tauntingly slid by her neck, leaving a faint scratch mark. Nikki gasped, but didn't flake away.

"You just can't stand losing!" Max accused. "Outsmarted and outrun by a bunch of kids, I bet you hate that! No chessboard or game of chance! Just you, me, and a bunch of crazy kids! Well, guess who's still standing to gloat, fucker~!" He sang.

Death's eyes glowed in wrath.

"You want me, asshole! Come and get me!" Max roared, flipping him off with both hands.

Death dropped Nikki in a heap on the ground and began gliding after the ghostly boy.

The girl looked up at her friend's retreating form and back up at the moonlight.

"Hurry, Max…" she whispered.

* * *

The forest blurred around him, no landmarks particularly stood out in the dim moonlight, but he couldn't even be brought to care!

No paths marked the area.

No trees looked any different than the one before.

He was running blindly with a hope and prayer of coming out in the end.

It was so close to midnight! _So close_!

He could _feel_ it in his bones like an ache. He could taste it in the air! It was almost time!

He was almost free-

*trip*

'GOD-F*CKING-DAMMIT' He thought, outrageously, as he felt his foot snag on a rock or something (_wait, how did he if he was intangible_). His momentum betrayed him enough that he went head over heels off the side of the path and down the sloping hill (_this… was wrong_).

His body jostled with every bump and tree, but he couldn't get a decent-enough hold on his surroundings to stop his tumble (_this was just like…_)

Through the blurred whirlwind of the world around him, he saw he was approaching the bottom of the hill (_… the last time_).

A stump pitched his body forward enough to stop the spinning (_not again_).

His eyes focused enough on a large mossy stone- (_a tiny, slumped figure in blue slouched in front of it_)

-a blood patch.

…

…

Nothing.

He blinked and realized he'd phased right through the rock such that he was sprawled on the other side.

He looked up at the hill above him. Empty and devoid of the entity.

Hastily, he stood up, to run across the clearing-

**-coldness.**

He stopped just shy of slamming face-first into Death's cloak. Falling flat on his butt again, he crawled backwards, not taking his eyes off the figure looming over him inevitably.

"Please… no…" He whispered.

Above the figure, the moonlight was peaking in the sky.

So close…

His back felt something solid. The tombstone he died at. The rock just as solid now as it had been when he'd cracked his head open on it.

The figure's shadow eclipsed the moonlight over Max.

So close…

It raised its scythe.

'_I'm sorry, everyone_.'

…

*SWISH*

…

…

…

…

…

* * *

**AN: One chapter left.**

**…**

**…**

**…**

* * *

**AN: Huh… I'm actually kind of proud of myself. That whole chase scene had, like, five or six bullet points that I could've been lazy about and made into a dull to-the-point 500 word chapter, but I like how this turned out in the end.**

**Action and chase scenes are always so hard to write without getting either too bogged in detail or too short and snippy; all while still keeping people engaged beyond 'then he hit him then he dodged. Then I fired and I missed and I fired again and I missed and I grabbed a popsicle, but I missed'.**

**Game Grumps reference in case you were wondering.**

**AN: And, yes. Poor Jasper, wolfie, and a bunch of trees were essentially 'Thanos'ed'; that is exactly the image I had in my had with the whole 'ash' thing.**

**Stick around 'til tomorrow!**

**-Crow**

* * *

…

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*beep*

…

*beep*

…

*beep*

…


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: ...**

* * *

…

…

The darkness was… warm.

Like… a cozy warmth that left the air feeling neutral and stagnant.

…

…

He realized he was still… existent, so there's that.

…

He also realized he could also hear a faint note fuzzily floating by him.

…

He just realized he still had _eyes_, too.

Hesitantly, he peeked them open, only to squeeze them shut again.

Everything was awash with a bright, white light.

…

…

Holy shit, either somebody seriously fucked up his "afterlife paperwork" and he's in Heaven or Hell's a lot nicer than people make it out to be.

…

"_Max_!"

A faint voice.

And familiar.

Like…

Like…

"MAX!"

"Ooofffuck!" The air was driven out of him with an 'oof'-turned-curse as something landed on his gut. His eyes flew open and rapidly adjusted against the white light. That something turned out to be a familiar seafoam green.

"Ma'am, I warned you-"

"Sorry, sorry! She won't do it again!"

That voice; Gwen?!

The weight was lifted off of him.

That faint note got more distinct with each passing second as the telltale beeping of a heart monitor.

Wha-?

"A-am I in a hospital?" He croaked.

The world started coming into focus. The white blurs became sterile ceilings and walls under a glaring fluorescent light fixture. Heart monitors, IV bags, and other devices were wired up to his body under the covers of a little bed. Some colorful decorations were here and there suggesting it might be the children's wing.

In front of him, he saw a couple figures; most recognizably, Gwen and Nikki. Or rather, Gwen holding Nikki to keep her from scampering out and about. Beside them was a Latina woman in her 40's wearing a doctor's coat, glaring crossly at the other two.

"Yes, you are, young man." The doctor answered, "Now please stay still while I look over you. And _you_ ma'am need to keep her under control."

"Got it," Gwen replied weakly.

"I… I don't understand-"

"Memory loss is a common side-effect," The doctor replied, propping open an eyelid to shine a penlight right in his pupil. He angrily swatted it away before she moved on to other tests.

"You were in an accident-" Gwen started.

"No, no, I remember that! Falling down a hill and hitting my head. What I'm talking about is… y'know…" Max hedged.

"What, Max?"

…

…

"Dying."

The doctor and Gwen both stood upright at that. Nikki stopped squirming to stare worriedly at her friend.

"Max… I…"

"Out of body experiences, hallucinations, and possible delusions aren't uncommon, either," The doctor replied authoritatively. "Max, do you feel like you _were_ dead, as in felt like you experienced your body shutting down or like you were floating above your body and viewing yourself? Or do you feel like you _are_ dead, as in you believe you are currently dead, undead, or something similar?"

"What?! No!" Max shook his head vehemently, "I'm not a f*cking nutcase, so don't treat me like one!"

"Max, she's trying to help. And those are serious questions. Cotard's syndrome isn't a joke," Gwen soothed.

The boy huffed, "No… I… I remember being a _ghost_, but I was still at camp. And this went on for _days_ where I was just going around camp haunting and doing ghost stuff and nobody found my body."

The adults seemed to relax.

"Vivid dreams," The doctor affirmed.

"Max, you ran off _yesterday_," Gwen emphasized. "David found you out in the woods that evening, out cold. We got you to the hospital and you've been here since. I actually arranged a visit-day for the other campers so they could leave get-well presents they made this morning. And so I could give David a break back to camp."

She glared down at Nikki, "Though they were _supposed_ to wait in the visitor's lounge and come in one at a time."

"Hey! I _am_ just one person." Nikki defended. "We heard a nurse say Max was starting to wake up! We couldn't stay there!"

"Wait, 'we'?" Gwen asked, suspiciously.

Nikki winced, but pretended she didn't here otherwise, "Me and Neil made an elaborate plan to distract all the nurses and doctors while we snuck over. We had everything we needed; a joy buzzer, a cantaloupe, a 9V battery, and somebody's prosthetic leg."

"Huh, a McGuffin-meets-Rocket-Racoon?" Max said, impressed.

"Worked like a charm!"

"Oh, shit, what did you two do?' Gwen asked, eyes drifting into a mile-long stare.

"Oh, yeah! Neil should be here any-"

"…wwwwwaaaAAAAAAAHHHHH! Oof!"

A white blur flew through the room's door and smashed against the wall with a thump. Space Kid slowly rode the wheelchair as it gently rolled backwards. It stopped just in front of his bed.

"Hiya, Max!" Kid waved.

…

…

"Wrong Neil," Nikki said pointedly. "He was just part of the distraction."

Just then the door slammed open once again.

"Amazing work, Doctor Werbenjagermanjensen!"

A multitude of doctors grinning brightly looked down at Neil wearing a white doctor's coat fitted to himself.

The head doctor blustered again, "But then again, what else can we expect from the world's youngest Harvard Medical graduate!"

Neil shrugged, "It was nothing… I know my way around to recognize a compounded gluten-allergy-anxiety-attack."

The head-guy reached down to energetically shake his hand, "Amazing work! Absolutely brilliant! We're so honored you chose to visit today!"

The collection of doctors walked off, talking excitedly with one another, the words 'genius' and 'brilliant' popping up often.

Neil stayed behind and shrugged off the coat onto a hook before hopping into a seat beside Max.

"Sup, fuckers?"

The doctor looked taken aback, "Wait… _you're_ the kid they've been showing around?!"

"That's right!" Neil confirmed, brightly.

…

…

The doctor looked on the verge of an apoplectic meltdown.

"Trust me, this is one of their _tamer_ adventures," Gwen offered, neutrally. "But seriously, Neil, impersonating a doctor?"

"Well, nobody actually _asked_, they just kept assuming and I got handed a medical coat somewhere between all of it."

"Yeah, yeah, but I gotta ask, what the f*ck were you thinking with that name?" Max asked Neil.

The science-camper-turned-doctor shrugged, "I had to come up with something on the spot." He turned to the doctor. "Hey, what's the minimum age for medical school?"

* * *

"Well," The doctor said at last, when the last test was done. "I have good news… and bad news."

Neil, Nikki, and Space Kid looked up from their game of pogs (where the Hell they got those from, beats me) and immediately crowded around the bed.

"Ooookay," Gwen said warily, "Let's start with the good news."

"He's in perfect health."

The room let out a collective sigh, followed by whooping and cheering from the campers.

"And the bad news?"

"We're going to keep him overnight for observation." The doctor said, smiling. Gwen let out an explosive sigh of relief.

"_What_?! You just cleared me! What gives?" Max exclaimed.

"Sorry, kid, it's hospital policy." she shrugged. "Keeps people alive afterwards and keeps the hospital from being held liable."

Max grumbled under his breath as Nikki suddenly got a bright, starry-eyed idea.

"SLEEPOVER!"

"NO!"

Gwen shot the idea down, but the campers were now crowded around Max, blathering about everything that had happened while he was out.

They didn't notice the doctor taking Gwen aside for a quiet, solemn talk.

* * *

The next day, the doctors finally wheeled Max out to the camp-mobile and Max couldn't say he was ever happier to see the crappy half-assembled sign for Camp Campbell passing overhead.

That day was almost completely a day of rest for Max and he couldn't be happier. He sat beside the lake as everyone swam around, content to sit away from the water and any possibility of David introducing swim-lessons to his docket.

Free-time included a magic act with Harrison turning grape juice into oatmeal (_déjà vu_, he thought) and concluded with a play by Preston that was basically a dramatization of Max's hospitalization. Complete with a surprise visit from his "fiancé", an unscrupulous doctor out for his life insurance money, and his "identical twin brother Carlos who went missing in a bush plan accident fifteen years ago". Conveniently ignoring the fact that he was still 10.

Gwen muttered under her breath that it was about on par to her _abuela_'s usual _telenovelas_.

Dinner saw everyone break out an extra set of (only _slightly_ expired) pudding cups in his honor.

Max ate his pudding thoughtfully as a thought came to him.

"Hey, Space Kid."

"Yeah?"

"Can you see ghosts?"

"Hmm… I don't think I've ever met a ghost. Why?"

"No reason."

* * *

That evening, Max sat beside the lake quietly enjoying the serenity as the other campers kept celebrating back in the Mess Hall.

A crunch of a footfall against the stone brought his attention along the shoreline.

**_Coldness_**

A tall, dark figure stood at the end of the docks.

It was coming closer.

He couldn't breath

The scythe

Jasper

The chase

"Hey, easy, easy it's just me."

The familiar voice brought him back enough to see the stranger's flashlight shining on her face.

"G-Gwen?"

"Yeah, hey, sorry for scaring you."

"I was _not_ scared." He retorted hotly.

"Mm-hmm," Gwen soothed, unconvinced. "Anyways, I wanted to check up on you. You weren't at the party and David noticed you sneaking out this way."

"I'm fine."

…

…

"H-hey, Gwen?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever think about dying?"

…

…

"Sometimes," She admitted, tone a little guarded. "You wanna talk about it?"

Then, the next five or ten minutes was purely Max recounting his dream. The vividness. Discovering he was a ghost. The Graveyard. The moon. The other ghosts. The haunts.

The Reaper.

The ending.

…

"And… and then it was all just… _gone_." He murmured at last. "Like… I guess the whole 'eternal nothingness' sounds pretty okay, but… in practice… it's still really scary."

"Mm-hmm," She hummed thoughtfully.

"It's just a fucking dream, though… I'm just… rrrrgh!" He growled, grabbing his hair. "It's so stupid to be so hung up on a stupid dream."

"… maybe not," Gwen added quietly. "It might've been your brain's way of telling you to hurry up and wake up."

"What do you mean?"

The counsellor looked a reluctant as she gazed across the lake as the moonlight shimmered across the lapping waves.

"I talked with the doctor after she gave you the all-clear."

…

"She said if you hadn't woken up when you did, your brain might've started… you might not have gotten out of it as good as you did… if at all."

"Y-you mean..?"

"Yeah… either it was the midnight thing or the Grim Reaper thing, one of the two, but we got really close to losing you, kiddo." She admitted.

…

…

She nudged him, "Hey… I know you rag on the psych major, but I'm actually pretty good at it if you need somebody to talk to about this stuff."

She stood up and dusted off her pants. "You might want to get back in there, Preston's going to try to chug another gallon of cola, and Space Kid found more bungee chords to tie himself to the fan with."

Max sat still for a moment.

He looked up at the moon without trepidation or worry.

Squinting across the lake, he could make out a faint, glowing figure floating around Spooky Island's mansion.

The sounds of late-night drills echoed from the Woodscouts.

Lights from a slumber-party-ish event at the Flowerscouts (complete with several _limousines_ parked out front for god-knows-what-reason) flickered across the water.

He dipped his hand in the water, relishing the coolness and the feeling of it lapping against his hand.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

It felt good to be alive.

* * *

**AN: What you seriously think I'm gonna perma-death Max?**

**I had this in mind since I wrote this out.**

**…**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**This scene, however, is the true ending afterwards and what started the whole story**

* * *

The sun was settling into evening as Max walked alone down the pathway in the forest. He told everyone he just needed some alone time and David was ecstatic about him taking an interest in nature.

This path, though, held some particular importance in his mind.

He needed to test it out to be sure.

Rounding a bend, he came across a path packed into the side of a sloping hill. On one side, the hill crept upwards. The other, it sloped downwards. Go figure.

But he paused when he found a patch of crushed debris tumbling down the hill, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Slowly and cautiously, he made his way to the base of the hill and, subsequently, the base of the trail.

The rock still sat at the bottom of it all. It was a miracle David managed to find him at all from the vantage point of the hill. The rock was almost completely obscured by trees and foliage.

He got closer, inspecting the rock itself.

It was the same, exact mossy rock he'd hit his head against. There was even a small bloodstain left against the side facing the hill.

A chilled wind blew through the clearing.

The space around him was just another overgrown, weed-infested spot of the forest. Brambles and vines and ivy choked each other out in a vegetative war with a few trees piercing the underbrush here and there.

…

None of the statues, graves, or ghosts from his dream.

…

He heaved a sigh of relief. A weight of doubt and worry dropped from his mind and he felt confident that the whole dream was just that… a crazy nightmare from his concussed brain trying to tell him to wake the fuck up before it died.

"Heh," he chuckled, "Nice to know I'm not going crazy."

He turned towards the hill once more, to begin the steady climb back up-

-when he paused.

…

The stone was covered in a thick curtain of moss…

The stone… had a shape.

It was broad, slightly flat, with the eroded, faded, clumpy quality of decades, no, _centuries_ of rain and erosion.

Brushing off the curtain of moss, he saw faded telltale divots of some kind of…

…

…some kind of writing…

.

E—A RAV—S-R-FT

.

He backed away, now looking at the clearing in front of him. The weeds and undergrowth hid it well in the dim light of the sunset and the lengthening shadows, but he could make out the distinct shape of harshly eroded stones. Stones too unnaturally placed. Stones too unnaturally shaped.

Stones.

Headstones.

…

He scrambled up the hill, away from the forgotten cemetery.

The chilled wind faintly threw a woman's voice, cloyingly whispering in his ear, "_hurry back… hurry back~_"

His hands clawed and clamored over the mess of grass along the slope until he tipped over the hillside.

Sprinting down the pathway back to the safety of camp, he swore he heard five voices harmonizing with a tone like smoothed marble.

"~**_So, hurry back we would like your company~_**"

.

.

* * *

**AN: Happy Halloween!**

**Sincerely yours,**

**~The Smiling Crow**


End file.
